Forbidden Fruit
by Maddie Rose
Summary: "Every death you see haunts you. It plagues your dreams. You are never safe from what you've done in that arena, and to be honest, I don't think you should be. It would be way too easy to forget the people you've killed, the lives you've destroyed. I was a Career, and some of the things I did during those Games were the actions of a monster." Gloss/OC
1. The Asking Price

**Chapter One: The Asking Price**

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**A/N: Hey guys. I'm still really disappointed and upset by the loss of Cruel Games and Death Games – but I'm determined to move past it. Yeah, I know this sort of story is different to what I've previously been writing for the Hunger Games, so please review and let me know how I'm doing. It's a Gloss/OC, but don't expect romance for a while. I'm going to be using the perspectives of Gloss and my OC, Storm.**

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**Gloss's POV**

I won the 68th Hunger Games when I was sixteen. There, I said it. Normally that's the sort of thing that merits handshakes and pats on the back. It's like…being a Victor should be a celebration or something. But I've been a Victor for six years now, and I'm telling you, it doesn't get any easier. Sure, there's the fame, that everyone in Panem knows your face. But it's an empty fame considering that you had to give up your humanity to achieve it.

I didn't volunteer because I wanted the fame and glory. Well, actually, that's a lie. I wanted it, but that wasn't the main reason. The main reason was because of Cashmere. Three years older than me, she'd won the 67th Hunger Games the year before. That was back when I was naïve and I thought the Victors were treated like superstars. And they are…most of the time. But there are always things you have to do to stay like that, prices you have to pay. When I found out the price Cashmere was paying, I didn't want her to be alone anymore.

It was scary to see how much my sister had changed, when she returned from the 67th Hunger Games. Cashmere had been confident to the point of near arrogance, but after all that she had experienced she seemed…well, no less confident really, but she was withdrawn. Introverted. She wasn't the same sister I'd grown up with. That scared me, the thought that the real Cashmere died in the arena along with the other twenty-three tributes.

She was horrified when I volunteered. She knew that she would have to mentor me and for some time, all she could do was berate me for how stupid I had been. I didn't care though. I was filled with a steely determination: I would win the 68th Hunger Games, no matter what. My district partner was a girl a year younger than me, Honey. I still remember watching District 6 cut her open in the final eight.

It's the sort of thing you don't forget. Every death you see haunts you. It plagues your dreams. You are never safe from what you've done in that arena, and to be honest, I don't think you should be. It would be way too easy to forget the people you've killed, the lives you've destroyed. I don't see myself as a human anymore. I was a Career, and some of the things I did during those Games were the actions of a monster.

The 69th Hunger Games were no better. It was like I was reliving my own Games, watching as tributes died once again. Thank God I had Cashmere or I don't think I would have survived. It's been like that these past few years – mentoring tributes, basically shaping them up and them sending them in to their deaths. Sometimes, they're kids you vaguely know. It doesn't make it any better or worse seeing them die if you know them. After a while, you just become numb to the whole thing, because feeling hurts too much.

Cashmere told me once that I should never fall in love. I sneered at that. How could a Victor ever fall in love, when they had already lost so much? The prospect was almost amusing. For some time I wondered why she was warning me about this. Cashmere herself had long ago lost the ability to love when she had been forced to serve herself to greedy Capitol men. The only person she loved anymore was me.

There would be a day when I would remember Cashmere's words, when I would think on them carefully. Love…it makes people weak. It makes them do stupid things. The prospect of it made me sick. That was before everything changed.

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"Gloss! Get up."

I sit bolt upright at my sister's sharp voice, tossing around to free myself from the prison of my cotton sheets. That happens sometimes, when my nightmares are extreme. I toss and turn and tie myself into knots in the bedclothes. Once I've unwound myself from the bedclothes, I stagger to my feet, raking a hand through my blond hair.

Cashmere is leaning in the doorframe watching me. By the wry look about her face and the sympathetic light in her eyes, she knows that last night was especially difficult for me. Both of us know what today is, what it means. The nightmares of the past few years are about to repeat themselves.

"Reaping day." Cashmere voices what I already knew. "We need to be down in the square in half an hour. Apparently they've loaded a new escort on us."

I snort. Escorts…why do we really need them? They're just stuck-up Capitolians who are perhaps curious about the districts, who haven't had to work a hard job a day in their lives. They're beyond contempt. I've never liked or trusted them. Cashmere's the one who's always nice to them. Most of the rest of the Victors can't be bothered putting in the effort.

The smell of eggs and bacon prompts me to go downstairs. Cashmere never used to cook before the Games, but as Victors who don't have to work, sometimes we need to have something to stop us from going completely crazy. Some of the other district's Victors are just…weird. We talk to them a bit, although most of the time we keep to ourselves. Still, no harm in getting friendly with the other Career Victors, especially when they might unintentionally give away tactics.

Cashmere saunters downstairs in a deep blue dress that brings out her eyes. She's always been beautiful, my sister. She's the sort of girl that the guys used to go after, only now they're intimidated by her fame as a Victor. If I was older than her, I could be the sort of overprotective brother who'd beat them away with a stick.

I wonder how long this year's tributes will last. In the 73rd Hunger Games last year, the girl got herself decapitated in the bloodbath, and the boy died of the cold during the night only a few days later. Needless to say, the Games weren't very eventful for District 1, but I feel like it's better when it's over quickly. It's like ripping off a bandaid rather than working it off slowly.

District 1 has a big pool of Victors, a lot like other Career districts such as District 2. The difference is that while I hear District 2 selects Victors from their variety, District 1 has a policy of always sending their latest two Victors to be the mentors for the tributes. It shouldn't really be surprising that Cashmere and I are the latest two. It's why I'm rather selfishly hoping that someday soon, another District 1 tribute will win, so at least Cashmere can have some breathing space.

"Gloss?" Cashmere glances across at me and I realize that, once again, I've been caught up in my train of thought. My sister's been growing increasingly worried about the fact that I just seem to zone out sometimes. She says it's like I'm living on another planet now. Sometimes I wish I was.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mutter, getting up and putting my plate in the sink before trudging upstairs. I check the clock. Twenty minutes…twenty minutes to prepare for an event that will ruin the lives of two families in District 1 irrevocably.

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**Storm's POV**

The train from the Capitol to District 1 only takes a couple of hours, but trust me to catch the late one in. As the train pulls into the station, I start making some frantic last-minute checks in the mirror. The last thing this district needs is another colourful, super-bubbly escort who just reminds them of the Capitol. That's why I had all the fire-engine red rinsed from my naturally mouse-brown hair, took out the green contacts I'd been wearing so my eyes were their normal hazel.

I want District 1 to see me as another person, someone they can relate to. Not that it's really going to happen. They hate us, the people from the district. I can see why. I mean, I've never done anything to the people of District 1 personally, but they're going to treat me with contempt. It's just the way things go.

"Storm!" There's an insistent hammering on my door. I groan and pop another aspirin. I'm really going to need it at the rate things are going. The press team who came with me are annoying the crap out of me. "We've reached the station, get your stuff."

Which means I'm up at the podium in fifteen minutes. Shit. I gather my things as fast as I can, smoothing down my black pencil skirt. First up is meeting the Victors, which should be interesting. I'm young for this job, so I'm told. Freshly turned twenty and I've been thrown into the deep end. Before I was just another face in the media gig, then the former escort for District 1 retirees and bam, I'm right in the thick of it.

I clack onto the platform in three-inch black heels, still valiantly attempting to adjust my skirt. I went for the businesswoman look, I think to try and disguise how young I am. I gnaw at my lip, before stopping when I realize I'm only going to get red lipstick on my teeth by doing it. The rest of the press team file off the train, assembling cameras and microphones as they go.

The Mayor of District 1 greets me enthusiastically. He's a puffed-up round ball of a man who constantly wipes his sweaty hands on his suit pants. I get the feeling that he doesn't like me, although he doesn't even know me yet. It's all just a show, a small segment of the big show we put on the Capitol: the Hunger Games. He keeps calling me Sky instead of Storm, but I let it slide.

"This way, Sky." The Mayor leads me into the Justice Building to meet the Victors I'm going to be working with. The place is full of appetizers and small glasses of wine red as blood. I'm immediately nervous when I notice the Victors. Both of them are so…okay, it sounds weird, but _beautiful._ They're quite clearly brother and sister.

The sister is the older one. She offers me a saccharine smile, but I can see that it doesn't reach her eyes. Hair the colour of bright gold reaches her waist and her eyes are a deep sapphire blue. I'm immediately jealous of her beauty. She's perhaps in her mid-twenties, and she walks over to me and extends a hand.

"You must be the new escort. I'm Cashmere Delucan."

I shake her hand firmly. "Storm Asterbury."

The young man ignores me. He's perhaps only a little older than me, with striking good looks like his sister. Unlike Cashmere, however, there's a scowl across his face, and I can see the disdain in his eyes when he looks at me. He catches me looking and I immediately drop my gaze, flushing. He already hates me.

"That's my brother, Gloss," Cashmere heaves a sigh. "You'll have to excuse him. He's not exactly very social."

I remember Cashmere and Gloss's Games. Cashmere was lethal, although at first underestimated because of her beauty. She proved that she was capable of killing without remorse. Gloss displayed a similar ruthlessness during his Games, and although they seemed harmless enough now, I knew better than to underestimate them.

Ever since I'd been a little girl, I'd hated the Games. Not because I'd thought them wrong, not then. I had always been weak-stomached, and the sight of blood and death upset me. I would often have nightmares even though the horrors of the Games were not my burdens to bear. I was just a little Capitol girl. It was the districts who were supposed to suffer, not me.

The Mayor ushers us outside into the square before I've even had the chance to eye off the appetizers. Gloss and Cashmere saunter across to take their allocated seats, but as the escort, it's my job to go up the microphone and officially get the reaping started. They'll all hate me, all the teenagers of age in District 1. It's because I'm the one picking their names out, like some sort of god choosing who lives and who dies.

I swallow and switch the microphone on, watching as the last kids file into their respective sections. I pity them. I've never known the fear of having to stand there, scared for my life, scared for someone I know and care about. I've always been sheltered, I know that. So why should it be me to pick out who's sentenced to the Hunger Games?

"Welcome." My voice is loud and confident, although inside I'm shrivelling up at the thought of addressing so many people – but this isn't about me and my insecurities. Two kids are going to _die_ from this district, and already I'm focusing on my own fears. I'm selfish. Most Capitolians are. "My name's Storm Asterbury, and I'm the new escort for District 1."

I'm met with silence. I suppose it's better having a Career district rather than one of the lower ones. The kids here are actually enthusiastic about the Hunger Games. It's about honour and glory for them. How little they know. I immediately distance myself. I don't know any of these kids. I suppose that's another aspect of my weak heart coming through. Good thing I was never in a district. I never would have made it as a tribute.

They listen in boredom, fidgeting as I push through the history of Panem, the Dark Days, how the Hunger Games came about. They don't want to hear about it, and I don't blame them. No one wants to be reminded of their failure. Afterwards, I paste a plastic smile across my features as I announce the drawing of tributes. Of course, I've been informed that in District 1, I won't have to actually draw names. There are volunteers left, right and centre. It sends shivers down my spine to know how eager some of these kids are.

"I volunteer." It's a girl of around seventeen, with silvery blonde hair. She steps out, causing a few other girls to don disappointed expressions. She tosses back her hair as she approaches the stage, and I can see that this girl has a bright confidence to her. She'll need more than confidence, though. "I'm Glimmer."

I haven't even opened my mouth to announce the boy tribute when a brown-haired boy from the eighteen-year-old section moves forward. He's tall, easily over six feet, and like the girl, has a cocky smirk across his face. That's the problem with Career districts, that's their downfall, they're too full of themselves to see anyone else as a viable threat.

"Marvel," the boy says.

I force a smile and turn back to the microphone. "District 1, I give you your tributes!"

As applause thunders through the square, I turn and glance towards the Victors. Perhaps they'll be impressed by Marvel and Glimmer, perhaps they won't really care. But all I see is the hatred in Gloss's eyes…and it's directed at me.


	2. Ghost Train

**Chapter Two: Ghost Train**

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**A/N: A huge thanks to my reviewers: laralulu, Team Karlen, CityGirl13 and lazy4ever. Hope you enjoy this chapter! I know Gloss is a bit of a dick, but I'm just trying to convey his hatred for all things Capitol. And italics mean a flashback.**

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**Gloss's POV**

I don't like this year's escort. In fact, I like her even less than last year's escort. Most of them are pretty open about what they are, looking down their noses like the snotty Capitolians they are. This one's different. She's young for starters, younger than me. Maybe twenty. Her attitude is what annoys me the most though. Her name's Storm or something stupid like that, and she acts as though she's a wide-eyed innocent, like she doesn't know what the Hunger Games are.

The tributes this year are arrogant, way too sure of themselves. I guess I can't exactly blame them – wasn't I just the same, not that long ago? I sit in a chair and swill my glass of wine, watching as Marvel attempts to flirt with a clearly uninterested Glimmer. Cashmere is over making herself a cocktail. Storm is sitting stiffly in her chair, like the _proper_ young Capitolian she was raised to be, no doubt. She takes small, polite sips of her wine and avoids eye contact.

"So, Sky..." I know it's not really her name, but I also know that it irritates her. It would be amusing, I suppose, to get under her skin. After all, she's not a danger like another Victor. What could little miss Storm Asterbury actually do if I got on her nerves?

She glances up from her glass. "Storm."

"Storm." My smile's mocking, probably even to her eyes. "Right. What is it exactly that you do in the Capitol? Of course, some of the year you're occupied with the Hunger Games, but what about otherwise?"

"I..." She looks puzzled, as though she's not quite sure to respond to such a direct question. Stupid Capitolians, she's probably used to fancy wordplay and dancing around the topic. "Visit my mother when I can, I suppose. Well...sometimes. We...we don't get along."

It seems strange to think that Capitolians actually have families, to think of them as anything but monsters. I glance across at Storm. She's trying hard to appeal to us, her hair a clearly natural mouse-brown and her eyes a fairly normal hazel. I think I'd prefer crazy colours and absurd behaviour to this clean-cut, professional-looking little try-hard.

"Why are you telling me about your family?" I lean back in my chair, raising my eyebrows. "Do you actually think I care about them? I asked what you do, not about your mother."

She blinks, not exactly hurt but a little surprised at my blunt response. Please, like I care. What is Storm going to do, cry if I hurt her feelings? Why does she even have the right to be offended? She's the one who's pretending to be something she's not. If she's from the Capitol, she might damn well act like it.

"Gloss, stop it," Cashmere snaps, sinking into a chair across from me with an electric pink cocktail, which she takes a sip of, before turning her attention upon Storm. "I apologize for my brother. He's not exactly the friendliest of people."

"Whatever," I reply, my mood turning sour. Of course, that's just Cashmere. She plays polite with the Capitolians, which is why she never has problems with any of them. I suppose it's probably stuck with her because of having to play the falsely sweet card with the men she has to sleep with. It's disgusting. I can't help but feel like Cashmere is taking Storm's side.

I glance across at the tributes. They're not allowed to drink, so instead they seem pretty bored with watching everything going on around them. I get up off the chair I'm sitting in and move so I'm leaning against the table next to them. That gets their attention. Both teenagers fall silent, watching me warily.

"What?" I demand of them, a little annoyed. Marvel remains silent, but continues to watch me. Glimmer is bolder, tilting her head to the side as she watches me. Her eyes are a bright green that shine brightly as she observes me.

"How did you win your Games?"

She seems to be a louder, more outspoken tribute than her district partner. Marvel continues to watch avidly, but it would seem that Glimmer's the mouthpiece. Out of the two of them, my bet's on her lasting a shorter amount of time than Marvel. It's the quiet ones you really have to watch out for.

"You want to know how I won?" I sit back down in my chair, aware that the teenagers' eyes remain focused entirely on me.

Cashmere heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes. Anyone would think she's disinterested, but I know better. She doesn't want to relive my Games again. She was already on edge enough during the 68th Hunger Games, and she doesn't like being reminded of all the worry she was put through. I decide that instead of telling these kids how I won, it might actually be more useful telling them how _they_ can win.

"How I won doesn't matter now." I wave a dismissive hand. "I slit the throat of the girl from District 6, but this was years ago."

"_Please." There are tears spilling down the girl's face as I press my dagger to her throat. "Please, don't kill me."_

_She's the one who practically rent Honey in two. It's not the sort of thing you forget easily, watching your district partner's insides splatter onto the ground. It was messy and it was horrible. It wasn't how I managed death would be. There was no glory in it, no triumph, not even for District 6._

_It's just the two of us left now. Surely she doesn't expect mercy? I wind a hand into her hair and wrench her head back, so that I'm the last thing she sees in the world when I slash her throat. District 6 chokes on her own blood and I let go, staggering back as her cannon goes off._

_I've done it, I've won..._

"Gloss?" It's Cashmere, sounding concerned. I snap back into reality and glance across at her. Glimmer whispers something to Marvel, causing him to snicker. These kids have no idea what they've volunteered for, no idea of the horrors they're going to witness. That is, if they live that long.

"Yeah, what?" I don't like it when she catches me in one of my zoning-out moments. It's almost like her seeing a weakness, a wound that's buried deep inside me, still bleeding after six years. I abruptly turn my attention back to Marvel and Glimmer. "You two. You want to win the Hunger Games? The first thing is that you can't trust anyone, not the other Careers, not even each other."

"Got it." Marvel nods, seeming a bit more confident in himself now.

"You have to kill anyone who stands against you, no matter how much they beg you otherwise," I say, my tone growing firm. This is what I'm passionate about. I don't have a choice – once you've been involved in the Games, it's something that stays with you for life. You want to see others survive as you did. You get sick of watching kids die year after year, and for what? What cause? Entertainment?

Marvel and Glimmer nod fiercely, but I was once like them. I thought it would be easy to kill, and in essence it is. You drive a dagger through someone's heart, cut their throat. That's the easy part. The harder part is getting their blood off your hands and trying to convince yourself you're still human, but at the same time attempting to push what you've done to the back of your mind.

The Capitolian girl is staring across at me with wide hazel eyes, and I flash her a bitterly victorious smile. Perhaps she doesn't like hearing of the brutality, the harsh truth. That's just too bad. The Capitol has their games, we don't like to play. Victors don't hide the truth, only the pain. Once you know what it's like to be a murderer, that's the only time you can talk about killing with any sincerity.

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**Storm's POV**

We're fast approaching the Capitol station. It only takes a matter of hours from District 1, whereas from places such as District 12, I've heard it can take days. I press my hand against the cold glass, glad that I'm going to be home, not in some lonely little place where everyone despises me and pretends they can't get my name right. It's late in the afternoon already, but it's been a long day catching trains and I can't help but feel weary.

A door hisses close and I whirl around. I don't get along with the four people I am going to be stuck with until the end of the 74th Hunger Games. Cashmere is alright, perhaps the only one who is actually polite to me, even if her civilities are forced. The tribute girl, Glimmer I think her name is, just flounces around and looks down her nose at me. Marvel ignores me completely, as if I don't exist. The worst is definitely Gloss and how hostile he is towards me, which is why my heart sinks when I realize that it's him.

"What's the matter?" He smirks when he notes my discomfort. "Do I frighten you?"

It would be a lie to say no. He speaks about death so casually, and now I think about it, I do remember some of his Games. I would have been around fourteen at the time, and I think I can still remember some of the more gruesome parts. I lick my lips and try and stand straight, although my legs are tired and the heels are making my feet wobble.

"Everyone gets frightened sometimes. You were frightened when you watched your district partner die."

It was the wrong thing to say, I know this even as the words leave my mouth, but it's too late to take it back. My weariness means that my diplomacy is wearing very thin indeed, and I watch as Gloss's blue eyes flare with rage. He snarls like a furious animal, grabbing me by the shoulders and slamming me into the wall. He's stronger, although I expected that. My head bounces against the steel, making me wince in pain.

"Don't you _ever_ mention her," he hisses at me. His fingers dig painfully into my arms and I bite down on my lip to restrain a cry. I regret my words and I wish I could take them back. Before I was frustrated by Gloss's clear hatred, but now I have just made myself deserve every bit of it. "You don't _know._ You don't know _anything._"

Gloss draws back just as quickly as he grabbed me. My feet give way and I slide down to the floor. He stares down at me, his jaw clenched and pure loathing glittering in his blue eyes. He thinks I'm pathetic, I can see it in his face. His lip curls in disgust, but before either of us can say anything, the door opens again and it's Cashmere.

She glances at Gloss, his face contorted with unspeakable rage, and then at me, curled on the ground like a scared child. She must think me pathetic as well, but she heaves a sigh and walks over, taking my wrist and tugging me to my feet with more strength than I knew she possessed. I quickly go about taking off my heels, bringing me back to my true five foot five, a stark contrast to Gloss's six foot two.

Cashmere turns on her brother. "What were you thinking?"

"She brought up Honey," Gloss spits, clenching his hands into fists.

"Are you completely stupid?" Cashmere sounds angry, but I hardly think it's got to do with the fact that Gloss was violent with me, but rather how that will reflect. "She's our escort, Gloss. You can't just throw her around like she's some sort of ragdoll."

He turns his hate-filled eyes on me, before glancing back at his sister. "I don't care who she is."

Cashmere turns to face me. I'm just standing across the room from them, gnawing at my lip despite the fact that I'll get lipstick on my teeth. I'm gripping my heels in my hand like my life depends on it, like I could really defend myself with my three-inch stilettos. There's an almost sympathetic expression on her face, and even I can't tell whether it's genuine or faked.

"Storm, could you please give us a few minutes?"

I nod mutely and walk out into the corridor, letting the door close behind me. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm actually shaking. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but if there's one thing I know, it's that I never want to be the victim of Gloss's rage again. That was truly terrifying.

It's more like fifteen minutes rather than just a few. By the time Gloss and Cashmere are finished with what I assume was a quiet argument, the train is slowing down as we reach the platform. I reluctantly put my heels back on, silently reassuring myself that it's just another half hour before we're in the Training Centre.

Gloss stalks past me, but by the time he's on the platform he's distinctly more relaxed. I'm hoping that he'll act like Marvel and perhaps ignore me when we reach the Training Centre. Anything's better than having to having to deal with his volatile temper. I take my mind off him and instead watch Glimmer and Marvel. Both of them definitely aren't crowd shy, waving to those who are cheering for them on the platform. I would think them courageous, until I remember that they don't know what's coming. They've seen it before, but they have yet to live it...and so do I.


	3. Nightmare We've Created

**Chapter Three: Nightmare We've Created**

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**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers: Team Karlen, WriterFreak101 and the epic bookworm. Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Also, for those who were reading Blood Games, Cruel Games and Death Games - check out the author The Queen of Heartless. A rewrite is in progress.**

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**Gloss's POV**

I twirl the empty wine glass idly in my hand. By now, the Marvel and Glimmer are being all beautified in preparation for the chariots. Not that it would take much – both of them are good-looking kids. It might help them gain sponsors, but I don't think it will make much of a difference if another tribute charges at them with a weapon. Finnick Odair is one example of a tribute that gained immense sponsor support – and managed to win.

Cashmere kept raising her wine glass to her lips, but the glass wasn't emptying at all. Maybe it's because the deep red liquid reminds her of blood. I immediately shake off the stupid notion. My sister isn't that childish. I think the truth is that she's worried. Not for the tributes now – this is probably the best part before the Games in the mind of the tribute, a chance to show off. She fears what is to come in this year's Games, as I think all Victors do. None of us want to see our tributes die, but at the same time, we don't want them to become monsters like us.

Storm stands by the window. She's already finished two glasses of wine. The thin straps of her deep blue dress leave her arms exposed, so I can see the purple bruises beginning to form where I dug my fingers into her biceps. I feel a tiny sting of guilt, before I push it away. Storm brought it upon herself. She brought up Honey, and she must have known that it would hurt. All the Capitolians know how to do is hurt.

Outside, the colourful Capitol is alive with noise as yet another district pulls into the station. They don't care about the deaths. Why should they? It's not their kids that get their names pulled out. So they celebrate because their favourite live television event is going to be back on. God, I wish I could knock some sense into those air-filled heads of theirs. Someone needs to give them a good reality check.

"Gloss?"

Speaking of reality checks, it's not until Cashmere says my name that I realise I'm holding my wine glass so tightly that in a minute it'll begin to crack. Storm glances across and I see the fear in her eyes. She's afraid of me losing my temper. Good, she should be. She has every right to be afraid.

"Sorry," I mutter.

Cashmere sighs heavily and gets to her feet. She'd always had an elegance, my sister. She had been the beauty of her Games, the pretty face that none had thought would have the capability to become a Victor. Storm glances over at her and I know that it's time. The tributes will be down at the chariots by now and it's our job to go down and wish them well, to wave to the people who all too soon will be cheering for their deaths. It's not exactly an appealing prospect.

We head down to the Training Centre, with Storm trailing along behind as though she has no idea what to do. That annoys me for some reason. Most of the other escorts have been blathering on non-stop about what's in store for the Games, what the Capitol thinks of everything. Storm remains silent though. I don't like the silence. It means I never know what she's thinking. She catches my hard stare and immediately takes to looking at the ground. I imagine how easy it would be to crush someone as weak as Storm in the Hunger Games.

"Don't we look great," Glimmer babbles, sauntering over to Cashmere and I and twirling in her costume. It's a thing of sequins and feathers that's supposed to represent the occupation of our district, but to me she just looks like a silly little girl playing dress-up. Marvel follows in a more solemn state. Perhaps it's something to do with having to wear the colour pink.

I glance around at the other tributes. The boy from District 2 – his name begins with a C if I remember correctly – glares sullenly around at the rest of them, for some reason lingering on the pair from District 12...and what a non-descript pair they are. Both are dressed in black, a brunette girl and a blond boy. When I turn my attention back on our tributes, Cashmere is already in the middle of giving the two teenagers a firm talking to. Storm shifts her feet awkwardly and I frown.

"Why are you even an escort?" I demand brusquely of her, causing her head to snap up. "It's not like you're doing much to help. Do you even the schedule? When Glimmer and Marvel return, they're going to want to know what to expect."

Some part of me wishes that she would argue back, all the better a reason for me to be angry at her. Instead Storm reaches into her pocket and withdraws a small mobile device. She taps a few things and hesitantly draws closer, showing me something with small writing. I'm too uninterested to bother reading.

"I have the schedule," she replies simply, before she stows the device. She is clearly trying hard not to anger me. "The chariots are not my arena, though."

"Not your arena." I snort in disdain. "You're hilarious."

Storm blinks, and I realise that instead of what I thought had been an intended pun, it had been an innocent mistake. Honestly, what was this naive little girl even doing here? She looked delicate, like porcelain, like the slightest thing could shatter her. I sigh heavily and turn my back on her. She's not even worth it me thinking about her.

* * *

Dinner is fraught with tension. Glimmer is looking sour as she slices her carrots into neat rectangles. Marvel is scowling. I throw Cashmere a glance across the table, and see only resignation in her eyes. We both know why our tributes are acting like this. District 12's costumes burst into flames during the chariots, completely upstaging everyone else. Glimmer and Marvel were completely unimpressed. Glimmer had stomped her feet and clenched her small hands into fists, although she had desisted when she came to her senses and realised there was nothing anyone could do about it.

"Tomorrow you begin training."

My head jerked up in actual surprise that Storm had spoken. She was studying the two tributes carefully, both of whom still bore sullen expressions. Despite the negativity she was met with, she trundled on.

"You'd be best to learn some survival skills as well as how to use weapons..."

"Hang on," I interrupted, giving her a hard look, "You're the escort. You're not supposed to be telling them what stations they're going to go to. You just tell the schedule and that's it, got it?"

For a moment, just a brief moment, Storm's eyes flare and I want her to challenge me, to argue. It's been so long since anyone actually stood up against me, but true to her spineless nature, she nodded mutely and backed down. She picks at her potatoes, smothered in gravy, and I'm left disgusted at her weakness once more.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

"AN ELEVEN?" Gloss throws another wine glass. It shatters into thousands of tiny glass fragments and I can't help but flinch. "HOW THE HELL DID A GIRL FROM DISTRICT 12 MANAGE TO SCORE THAT HIGH?"

Cashmere watches him, her face a stoic mask. I am only glad that Glimmer and Marvel aren't here to see this latest outburst. Gloss whirls on us, panting heavily. He's a madman. I knew that before, but I had never seen him lose his temper like he just did. I'm shaking in my seat, because I'm afraid. Shouldn't I be? This man has no bounds. His anger is limitless.

"We don't know, Gloss." Cashmere speaks calmly. I hope that she can manage to make him put a lid on his temper. Someone has to talk sense to him and it seems that only his sister can take up that role. She makes to reach out to him, but Gloss just angrily kicks the shards of glass that he's left in a transparent jigsaw across the carpet, before stomping out. I glance at Cashmere, biting my lip, but she shakes her head.

"Sometimes it's just best to leave him," Cashmere says, sighing heavily. She rakes a hand through her long blonde hair and I pity her. She leans down and starts scooping up the glass shards, and I rush to help. This is obviously not new to her. Gloss destroys everything around him and it's always up to Cashmere to pick up the pieces.

"Is he often like that?" I inquire, and then scold myself for sounding like a curious child. Cashmere probably doesn't want to talk about Gloss right now. She would want to forget his outburst, but I keep mucking things up.

"He gets angry," Cashmere admits, picking up the glass shards and walking over to dump them in the bin. "But not usually that angry."

Everything she does is elegant, flawless. It's no wonder she became a Victor, with such natural beauty and grace. Not to mention that she is intelligent. But then I see the pain in Cashmere's blue eyes, and I realise that while not crazy on a Gloss level, everyone has their scars and faults. Just because they aren't apparent on the surface doesn't mean that they aren't there.

"It must be hard," I murmur softly.

Cashmere nods, swallowing a lump in her throat. "It is. The Games...they took my baby brother away from me. He never came back. The Gloss you see now is just a shadow of who he once was. I would give anything, even my own life, to take that back. To have him as he was before."

I'm struck by her selflessness, and her decision to relate something so deep and painful to me. Gloss hates me, views me as yet another Capitolian that he must condemn, but Cashmere is more accepting. At first it was just pure tactfulness, but now I'm starting to think that she wants to open up. She wants to have a friend and she's looking to me to be that person. I bite my lip and touch her arm, but she brushes my hand off.

"Is there a way for him to stop hating?" I ask almost desperately. "I want to prove to him that I'm capable of understanding if he'll let me, but..."

Cashmere is shaking her head. "Gloss doesn't trust easily, Storm. He's paranoid and he's out of control. I'm probably the only person now who understands the burden he bears. The only one who can even try to calm him down. If you want him to trust you, you have to at first keep your distance."

I don't know if I can do that. I've always been a curious person and the more I see of Gloss, the more I should want to run away – but I don't. I want to find out more. I want to see why he's like this, I want to see the raw hatred and anger, even if it's directed at me. It only makes me realise how heartbreakingly human these Victors are, how much pain they have been through...and whose fault it is.

I push myself to my feet and walk down the corridor. My honest intention is to go to bed...until I hear the sound of running water and see that Gloss's door is ajar. My curiosity gets the better of me and I peer in. Gloss is leaning over the sink, his hands fisted in his blond hair. There's blood in the sink and I note with only a slight heat in my cheeks that he's taken his shirt off. I go to take a step back, but it's already too late. Gloss has seen me.

"You." He scowls across at me. "What do you want?"

I tentatively step through the doorway. "You're bleeding."

"You think?" Gloss retaliates sarcastically. Even in the dim light of his private bathroom, I can see that he's still well-built. My eyes rake over his toned chest and I can't help but flush like a silly little girl. His lip curls in contempt when he sees this. "Checking me out, are you?"

"No," I lie. I have no interest in Gloss in that manner at all, but I am not going to deny that he is a good-looking man. I glance down at his hands, which have lots of wicked cuts, many of them still bleeding. "You should have them checked in case there's still glass in them."

"I don't care," Gloss snaps, his blue eyes cold, "Get out of my room."


	4. Deep Shadows

**Chapter Four: Deep Shadows**

* * *

**A/N: A huge thanks to my reviews: Team Renly, Bookworm and Lover, the epic bookworm, WriterFreak101, izzybellawella and Dyksta. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. **

**Okay, I really don't know where all of this came from. Gloss's point of view is probably deeper than I meant it to be. I kind of got hooked on a few sad songs while I was writing it. If you want to get in the mood, you should listen to "Breathe Me" by Sia or "The Diary of Jane" (Acoustic Version) by Breaking Benjamin.**

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

It's the night before the Games, so of course I've been drinking heavily. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some complete alcoholic like Haymitch from District 12, but I suppose everyone wants to shut out the pain in some way or another. I experiment. I've tried drugs, women, cutting, booze. None of it seems to work for me. I'm left with this hollow feeling inside me, like there's a void I need to fill. It's either being shocked to the core by what's to come, or being numb. It looks like those are my two options.

If you asked me what I was drinking, I wouldn't be able to tell you. It's the Capitol's finest wine no doubt, but it tastes bitter on my tongue. Nonetheless, I have more, and more, like it can fill the hole the Games have created inside me. Someone touches my arm and I whirl immediately, before relaxing as Cashmere silently sits beside me. She's been focused on getting Glimmer and Marvel through the interviews, and I feel a surge of guilt.

I'm acting as though I'm the broken one, damaged beyond repair, but that's not my role to play. The Games might have destroyed me, but at least it stopped there. For Cashmere, things only continued. A letter that smelled like roses. Long nights with strange men. A shame and a hurt that I couldn't even begin to comprehend. It's only when I remember Cashmere's pain, a pain she still suffered, that I force myself out of my shell. For her sake. I sling an arm around her shoulder and she leans her head on my shoulder, a soft breath escaping her.

"The Games are tomorrow." It's something that we both know, but in Cashmere's normally confident voice I can hear a hitch. There's more. "I have to go out tonight."

I tense, my hands balling into fists of rage. It hurts me as well, knowing what the Capitol subjects my sister too. It hurts that I can't say the right words to stop her crying into the dawn, that I can't _understand._ I've always felt that it was my role to be the protective role, but in truth, she's playing her role as the big sister and protecting me. It's something that makes me mad, to know the sacrifices she makes for our tributes.

"Don't go," I tell her firmly.

Cashmere sighs. "Glimmer and Marvel need sponsors, Gloss."

I know that. I know my words fall on deaf ears, but it's always worth a try. I dream that one day she'll ruffle my hair and agree, but in my heart, I know it'll never happen. It's been a long since we've been the playful brother and sister. I did this to us. I volunteered and caused her this pain, the pain that soon became my own. There's no point trying to deny the blame. What's the point in pretending anything?

"Please don't go."

Cashmere turns her face. She doesn't like it when I plead with her. I swill the wine in my glass and tilt back my head, swallowing the rest of it. It's dry and sour down my throat, a burning liquid fire. I want to cry at what my sister endures. It seems she's destined to be the stronger one while I'm the shadow, the unbalanced one. I don't even know if I have the strength to cry. Fuck, I'm a wreck.

"Glimmer and Marvel did really well in their interviews." She deliberately changes the subject, and I don't change it back. I don't want to make this harder than it already is.

"District 12 did better," I mutter, but I'm not angry. I remember how the girl spun and her dress lit on fire, how the sappy boy declared his love for her. Love? He doesn't know the meaning of the word. I don't know the meaning of the word. What is love, really? How do you know when you're in it, when you're out of it, when your heart breaks when the rest of you is already shattered?

I only realise the tears are streaming down my cheeks when Cashmere leans across to wipe them away, hugging me close. I stiffen, but don't pull away. How did I not feel that I was crying? I laugh then, out loud, because I'm insane. I know it, we've both always known it. It's just when the Games swing around that it becomes more obvious. Cashmere draws back and grips me by the shoulders, shaking me a little.

"Focus, Gloss. No more booze."

I smile wryly, but it freezes on my face as I see _her_ standing in the doorway, awkward, knowing that she doesn't belong. She has seen everything. My tears, my weakness. Cashmere turns and notices her as well. Her face registers surprise.

"Storm."

"Sorry," she stammers, taking a step back. It's already too late. I am supposed to appear strong, and she's seen through the walls to what's hiding behind them, cowering, too frightened to come out. No one apart from Cashmere is allowed to see past my barriers. I push myself to my feet, snatching my hand away when Cashmere takes it in an attempt to stop me.

"Why are you watching us, Storm?" I demand, stalking over to her. I expect her to turn and run. She stands there and lifts her chin, meeting my eyes. I wasn't anticipating that, but I don't see courage in her. I just see her as an obstacle, as prying eyes into something that isn't for a Capitol girl to see. "Do you get a kick out of seeing it, huh? This is how low some Victors have fallen. Does it surprise you, that your Capitol is capable of causing this?"

Storm opens her mouth to speak, but I'm done listening. I know Capitolians. Their words are softly spoken, gilded lies. I want her to scream at me, slap me, give me something real. Anything is better than the falsehood that has become my life. Before she can so much as utter a word, I grab her by the throat and lift her off her feet, slamming her against the wall.

A cry of shock escapes Cashmere. Storm chokes, prying at my fingers desperately. Her feet kick at thin air. I can see it in her eyes – she's afraid of me. She always has been. I thought it was good and I still do. But there's also a hurt there, almost like she has been betrayed. Storm has no right to such a hurt, but it still stings to see it. She tries to say something, but instead just chokes some more. Tears well in her hazel eyes and a whimper escapes her.

"Let her go, Gloss!" Cashmere's voice rings with alarm and she's gripping my shoulder, digging her nails in. She's not trying to cause me the pain I'm causing Storm, but rather make me see exactly what it is that I'm doing. After a moment I release the Capitol girl and she slumps to the ground, coughing. I watch her impassively.

"You're a monster," she spits hoarsely as she gets to her feet, and I think it's the most emotion I've ever seen from Storm Asterbury. I am so sick of mild curiosity and feigned contentment with the world around her. I wanted to see what she was really made of, and I guess I had my answer. She is steel and I'm the hot fire that forges it.

"I know," I reply calmly, because she is only telling me what is already embedded within me: the knowledge that the Games have changed me irrevocably, and there's no going back.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I want to hate him. I should hate him. But I don't have the right or even the resolve. Since District 1, I have feared the powerful man that I saw Gloss as...but things changed last night. When he grabbed me by the neck and lifted me off my feet, I saw the broken boy that he truly is. So now I don't hate him, and I'm not afraid. I pity him, and that's even more dangerous, because I know he would despise my pity.

I sit alone in my room. Escorts aren't required to watch the Games commence like the Victors are. Most of them do, crowding around the screens with excitement on their faces. But I have always abhorred the violent and gory bloodbaths, unable to watch without turning my face. This year is no different and I know that if Gloss saw me watching, I would see the loathing in his eyes that burned into me. Why did he hate me so much? It wasn't my fault that I was born a Capitolian. I hadn't asked to avoid the Hunger Games.

Dammit. I push myself to my feet and wander down the corridor to the lift. There are a few floors beneath ours – such as the training centre and the observation room. I press the big O button that designates the observation room, and step into the interior of the lift. I pause a little when I realise that I am not alone. There's a man there, perhaps in his early forties, and I recognise him immediately.

Haymitch Abernathy.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he mocks me. "You look like you've see a ghost."

He laughs as if it's some kind of private joke, swigging back his beer. I don't even know where he managed to get that from. I press the buttons to close the lift doors and then we're heading down towards the observation room.

"You're late," I point out, "Victors were supposed to be in the observation room twenty minutes ago. The Games will be starting soon."

"Mmm." Haymitch looks distant and I think back to see if I can recall his Games. Obviously not – they would have been before my time, but I remember a repeat. The 50th Hunger Games, with twice the amount of tributes. Haymitch used the force field around the arena to his advantage, and because of this his mother, younger brother and girlfriend were all killed. He had shown the Capitol up, after all.

"Your tributes seem to be doing well this year," I remark, trying to make polite conversation. In truth, I'm also curious. There are many whispers about this 'Girl on Fire' from District 12, her score of eleven in training. Her district partner is of interest too, but not quite so much as her.

Haymitch seems relieved when we arrive at the observation level a mere few moments later, and I hardly blame him. We step out and make our way towards the room in a sort of awkward silence. Haymitch steps back and waits for me to swipe my pass, then I open the door and we enter the room. It's a mass of brightly-lit television screens, people swarming all about the place. I recognise Gloss by his golden blond hair, but I deliberately avoid him.

"Storm." Cashmere walks over, and although her tone is casual, her demeanour is different. She seems almost self-conscious, and her eyes are more flat, lifeless. I know what the Capitol makes her do and it disgusts me. I'm guessing that she was sold out like some kind of animal last night, to a man who simply wanted a night with a Victor. I'll never understand their reasoning. I notice the bruises in the shape of fingers around her wrists, but I say nothing about it.

"Have I missed the start?" I ask. Perhaps she thinks I'm eager, but in reality, I'm hoping that the bloodbath is already over. Cashmere shakes her head and leads me over to the screens, where the tributes are waiting on their metal plates for the countdown to be over. There's a nervous fluttering in my stomach. It's just on television, it's nothing that can hurt me...but no matter how much I remind myself this, I can't help but look out for Glimmer and Marvel. It's different once you _know_ the tributes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice seems to emanate from all around us. Several Capitolians clink glasses in some kind of toast, their voices rising in excitement, but I remain silent. I can see the hard set of Cashmere's face, the contempt in Gloss's eyes.

I watch with fascinated horror as the gong sounds and the tributes scurry for the Cornucopia – well, those brave enough. The rest make their way towards the nearby woods, but I'm transfixed on the sight of the District 1 tributes. I know that as with most years, they will form a Career alliance with Districts 2 and 4 – but right now, all I can see is Marvel picking up a sword and cutting down the girl from District 3. Blood stains her shirt, spreading like a poisonous red weed. Nearby, Glimmer slashes open the throat of the boy from District 6.

The bloodbath continues and I watch in a sense of detachment. So many tributes are already dead...yet Glimmer and Marvel are still alive by the end of it. They join with the muscular blond boy and the dark-haired girl from District 2, and another girl I can only assume is from District 4. The five of them pick through the Cornucopia, taking what they want and leaving everything else behind. Once they start trekking away, I swallow hard and turn and walk from the room as silently as I can.


	5. The Wolves

**Chapter Five: The Wolves**

**Gloss's POV**

It feels a lot quieter sitting down to dinner without Glimmer and Marvel. Admittedly, our tributes are doing well in the arena after having joined with the other Careers, and I have high hopes for them. However, my good mood is spoiled by the fact that we are not alone at dinner – and I'm not talking about Storm. A high-ranking Capitolian by the name of Cicero Belgiam has accompanied us, and I'm struggling to retain my temper. He keeps shooting meaningful glances at Cashmere, who keeps her focus on her food. I feel like throwing mine up. There's got to be some other way to get sponsors.

Storm is picking at her food without actually eating anything. Poor precious Capitolian girl can't seem to handle the pressure of the Games. I shovel down my own food, fisting my hand around my wine glass as Cashmere gets gracefully to her feet. She turns to glance at Belgiam, and I can see the dread in her eyes, the apprehension of what's to come.

"Shall we go and talk business, Cicero?"

Belgiam is all too eager to leave the table and I can feel the bile rising in my throat. Storm keeps her eyes down, stirring her broccoli idly through the sauce without the slightest intention of eating it. The door clicks shut and the footsteps recede, and then I'm left with her. There are purple bruises around her neck in the shape of fingers and although I don't want to, I know the right thing to do is apologise.

"Storm." She looks up at her name, a surprised look crossing her face. "I...I'm sorry that I hurt you."

The words are lies. They are without any true meaning. What's to say I don't lose my temper and strike her again? It feels so good to take my anger out on someone who won't fight, who won't hit back...but that's just the problem. I'm taking my frustration at the Capitol out on someone who – despite my dislike for her – is undeserving of such violence. She nods slowly, looking a bit uncertain and it stings a little to know that she thinks of me as just some violent brute. She doesn't expect that I regret my actions.

I push myself to my feet. "I'm going to bed."

"Stay." The word shocks me into freezing, because I never expected it from my victim. She glances up at me with curious hazel eyes and I see that I'm not a monster to her – I'm an enigma. A puzzle she wants to put together. I guess no one told her that I have a few pieces missing. "Will...will you tell me about your Games?"

It's a strange request, especially from her. Most people want to shy away from the blood and death that occurred, myself included. Storm doesn't handle these current Games very well, but I sigh heavily and rake a hand through my hair. If I go to bed, I'm just going to end up worrying about Cashmere. Maybe it's best that I do something to distract myself.

"I was sixteen years old..."

* * *

By the time Cashmere returns, Storm is curled on the couch, asleep. She looks like such a child and in many ways, she is. She has never been exposed to the bleak reality of the districts. She's lived a privileged life in the Capitol and it's all she's ever known. But none of that gives her any right to pity, the deep sadness that I saw in her eyes when I told her my story.

"You two getting along now?" A smile quirks Cashmere's lips, but her eyes are dead. I smile wryly, for her sake.

"Well, I'm not attacking her."

She laughs mirthlessly. "That's a start."

"So." It's a question I have to ask, no matter how much I hate to. I rake a hand through my hair and heave a sigh. "What have we got for Glimmer and Marvel?"

Cashmere glances across at Storm. Maybe she wishes she could be that innocent, because I do. Growing up in the Capitol, the Games would seem like just another reality television series. Coming from District 1, we know the truth. We feel the pain, just like the rest of the Victors. The tributes from the districts idolise us, but they don't know what we do. How can they?

"Are you going to take her to bed?" she asks.

For a moment, contempt flashes through me. I'm not carrying some spoilt Capitol girl to her bed. Don't we do enough for them? I move across and grab Storm by the shoulder, shaking her roughly. She jerks awake, drawing back. I roll my eyes. Why is she afraid? She has no right to fear. She doesn't even know what true fear is. I push myself to my feet.

"You were asleep. You'd better get to bed."

Storm nods and rakes back her hair, clambering to her feet. She glances at Cashmere, whose expression remains impassive. She knows that she's a sheep amongst wolves. Storm swallows and makes to say something, but then turns on her heel and walks down the corridor to her room. It's better that way. Cold silence is better than having to pour everything you're thinking out in words.

* * *

_The boy from District 2 is big. At sixteen I'm already over six feet tall, but he's closer to seven. Julius, I think that's his name. His weapon is a broadsword that most other tributes couldn't lift. It's me, it's him, it's District 6. But I won't kill District 6, not yet. I want to save that until last, so that she knows how close she came to winning and how hard the fall is from second place._

_Julius circles me. He's like a great big bear, growling, waiting for the chance to strike. But the bear is slow and bumbling. The bear has strength, but not speed. I am the wolf, the fast ferocity. So when that sword swings towards me, I nimbly duck away, whirling my spear so the point is level with his neck. Julius lunges again, but I kick him in the shin and dance back once more. _

_He's growing agitated. I can tell by the angry glint in his eyes that he didn't think I would be this much of a challenge. I feint left and duck right, spinning so that my spear bites through his neck like an axe through a tree trunk. Blood sprays out like a fountain, spattering across my face. The cannon goes off as Julius's head hits the ground._

_I stand still for a moment, before I lean down and seize Julius's hair by the roots. I stand and hold his head up high, my face smeared with blood and my teeth bared in exertion, for all of Panem to see. I can almost hear them cheering, for my victory, for the savage that I've become._

I wake up screaming.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I lie awake listening to him suffering the ghosts of the past. I know that Cashmere is tormented as well, and so I know it's up to me to do something. I push myself out of bed, forsaking the warm blankets, and stumble down the hall until I reach Gloss's room. He's thrashing in his sheets as I watch in fascinated horror. Even in his sleep, he's violent. I step into the room and he lurches upwards, shouting out. I flinch, before I notice that he's actually awake now.

"You again." His voice is hoarse from his yelling and he glares across at me, but I notice there's no true malice there. He's just embarrassed that I've seen him in such a state. I hesitantly wander over and sit on the edge of his bed. Now that he's told me about his Games, I feel like I understand a little more. "What are you doing in my room?"

"You were having a nightmare." I bite my lip and dare to press further. "What was it about?"

Gloss rakes his hands through sweat-slick hair and for a moment I think he's going to tell me to leave. But I've come to realise that he's the sort of person who needs someone to confide in, and when he doesn't...well the violence speaks for itself. It's normally Cashmere, but she's indisposed. He might as well rely on me.

"Do you remember how I killed the boy from District 2?"

I think back and wince at the recollection. Gloss cut off his head and held it up for the world to see. I had been shocked, forcing back my disgust. Even now, I didn't understand why he'd done it, as if the boy's head had been some kind of trophy. I nod and watch him, watch the ghosts flickering behind blue eyes.

"I regret it." The words are almost choked out. "I regret everything. We all became monsters. That's all Careers are seen as these days. We were taught to fight, but they never taught us how to _survive._ That's even harder."

I listen in silence as Gloss divulges his humanity. Despite his cold demeanour, I've always known that there was more to him, more than just the wild animal he struggled to contain. It's almost a softness, but I wouldn't dare tell him that. Instead I just listen patiently, watching as he buries his face in his hands and emits raw sobs. I tentatively place a hand on his arm, but he shrugs me off. He doesn't trust me _that_ much.

"Go." The word comes out harsh and I get to my feet, glancing down at him – and more and more, I see the broken boy struggling to be a man. "Don't tell anyone about this. Not even Cashmere."

* * *

By Day 4 of the Games, most of the Career tributes are still alive, with the exception of the boy from District 4. This is surprising because usually all of the Careers survive the bloodbath. Cashmere is very confident about Glimmer and Marvel, but Gloss seems to grow increasingly more solemn. Not in public, of course. In public he's the same arrogant young man that I always believed him to be. But at night when we go back to our floor, he voices his doubts.

The Careers have made camp underneath a tree where the girl from District 12 is hiding. I don't see why they don't give up the chase. She's a stubborn thing, so they'd be better off to go after another tribute. But I'm just an escort, a Capitolian. I don't officially know enough about Games tactics to voice that. So instead I let Cashmere organise the sponsors, and Gloss sink into his pit of worry.

I wander out in the middle of the night to find Gloss watching the Games. I linger and watch as the girl from District 12 starts cutting at something in the tree, before I gather up my courage and venture over. I sit beside Gloss, but not too close. Neither of us is comfortable with contact.

"What's she doing?" I inquire.

"It's a tracker jacker nest." Gloss's voice is tight, and I realise why. If that nest falls, it will only take a few stings for the District 1 tributes to die. It would be almost laughable, the mighty Careers defeated by the tiniest of enemies. I don't say that though, because I don't know what sends Gloss spiralling into his rages, and I don't want to inadvertently trigger it. I clasp my hands together, silently hoping that the tributes have the sense to wake up.

I don't know how long we sit there in horrified quiet, but dawn is starting to break by the time the tracker jacker nest plummets to the ground among the Careers. Glimmer jerks up, screaming piercingly, and the rest scramble to their feet as well. Gloss rises and starts pacing back and forth like a trapped animal with no way out. I'm too fixated on the screen. The District 4 hits the ground, her body jerking and convulsing, before her cannon goes off. Marvel has sprinted off along with the others, but Glimmer has fallen behind.

She was always so pretty. I remember at the interview how she had shone. But when Glimmer claws at her face, which is puffing up with stings, I see that she's not pretty anymore. She screams again, desperately, but I know it's over for her even before she crumples and her cannon goes off. I watch in shock as if there's some chance of her getting up, even though I know she's down for good.

Gloss roars in rage, kicking down a lamp. He's breathing heavily as he watches the screen, which shows that the other Careers have made it to the river. I sit in complete silence as a few more inanimate objects are smashed. Gloss whirls on me and I bite my lip, expecting him to attack. Instead he slams his fist into the wall and stalks out.


	6. Still So Far

**Chapter Six: Still So Far**

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**A/N: Okay *guilty face* admittedly this chapter involves a fair bit of Storm/Gloss. Nothing romantic yet, they're not moving that, but there's definitely...something there. You'll see what I mean, hopefully. Anyway, enjoy the randomness that is this chapter. Sorry if it's a bit...odd.**

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

I scowl at my reflection in the mirror. I have never liked suits, or bow ties, or fundraiser balls for that matter. But the Games are expensive and the Capitol has to pay somehow. Most years I shut myself away and leave the socialising to Cashmere. I'll come to some events, but the fundraiser ball is one I always miss, partly because I don't like balls of any description, and partly because I want to spite the Capitolians. This year though, Cashmere has practically bullied me into attending. She is also determined to find sponsors for Marvel, sponsors who don't want her body in return.

"You look fabulous," Cashmere tells me as she brushes the dust off the sleeves of my suit jacket. She probably had to shake some spiders from it it's been in the closet that long. I frown and Cashmere makes to ruffle my carefully gelled hair, but then thinks the better of it. I let her dress me up like some kind of model because I know it makes her happy. But I figure that I'm allowed to scowl now to compensate for all the fake smiling I'm going to be doing very soon.

"You too," I reply. She's wearing a bright blue dress that matches her eyes. I think it's made of satin, but I'm not too sure. It has a one-shoulder strap and pools down to her ankles, nearly concealing the silver stiletto heels she's wearing. Although she's naturally tall at around five foot nine, those heels make Cashmere nearly my height, which says something in itself. Her eyes are rimmed by dark eyeliner and her lips are painted a soft pastel pink.

Unfortunately, it's not only us Victors going, but Storm as well. It's going to be really interesting to see what she's like around her own people. She acts softly-spoken and mild with Cashmere and I, but I'm betting she's different when she starts rubbing shoulders with the wealthy Capitolians. Storm enters the corridor nervously in a purple strapless sequin dress. It actually doesn't look too bad on her, complementing her curvy figure...but she still looks too small, even with heels on.

"Don't take all night," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I brush past her and exit the Training Centre, climbing into the back of a sleek limousine that pulls up moments after we walk outside. Storm and Cashmere click across and climb in, sliding across the leather seats. I just lean back and boredly drum my fingers against my armrest. The sooner we get to the President's manor the happier I will be. I just want tonight to be over and done with already.

The manor is as disgustingly resplendent as always. It's a cream building with a black roof, and as we enter the ballroom, I see several chandeliers that look like they may be made of real diamond. Provided, no doubt, by my own district. Disgusting. Even the staircases winding up the sides of the room and the tiling appears to be marble. How can President Snow afford all of this when the districts are starving?

The moment we enter the ballroom, it's like we're a beacon drawing all of the other Victors in. Brutus from District 2 shoulders his way through the crowd towards us, not that it's hard considering his impressive height of six foot six. At least the man has some manners, shaking my hand – I force myself not to wince as he tries to break my fingers – and kissing Cashmere's hand. True to his nature, he completely ignores Storm, who seems annoyingly content to stand there and pretend she's invisible.

Finnick Odair is a different matter completely. We've never really been on the same page, Finnick and I. We just...don't get along. Cashmere is civil towards him, but even she can't stand the charming smile plastered across his face. He shakes my hand briefly, inclines his head to Cashmere, but it's Storm he turns his attention on. My lip curls contemptuously. He's known for his Capitolian flings.

"Who is this pretty lady?" Finnick asks, kissing Storm's hand for longer than is really necessary. His flattery causes her cheeks to turn a slight pink, and I find myself growing annoyed. Is she really so easy to charm? Besides, it's just Odair. She should know him better than that.

"Storm Asterbury." She introduces herself with perfect Capitolian manners, that stupid girlish smile still spread across her lips. Luckily, I'm saved any more vomit-worthy flirtations by Haymitch from District 12 stumbling and nearly taking down the drinks table. Finnick glances at him, at Storm. He smiles.

"Excuse me."

Storm looks a little disappointed as Finnick leaves us to walk over to Haymitch. I can't help but roll my eyes. Is she truly such a little girl that she would fall for such easy charms? Finnick would no doubt be chatting up another pretty Capitolian girl in a matter of minutes. Storm would be forgotten.

"Love-struck already?" I mock her, causing her attention to turn from Finnick to me. A terse frown crosses her face.

"I think he's good-looking. It doesn't mean I'm love-struck."

She turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd. I notice, after a few minutes of close observation, that Storm is very easy at getting smiles and laughs from other Capitolians. This is good. This is what we're looking for. For so long it's been Cashmere used to get sponsors, but I have an even better idea. If the people of the Capitol believe that I'm close with Storm, that we District 1 Victors are close at heart to the Capitolians, then perhaps they would be persuaded to support Marvel over other tributes. I smile to myself and pick up a glass of wine, taking a sip.

I walk across and tap Storm on the shoulder. She turns, still laughing at a joke some blue-haired Capitolian woman told her. The amusement dies on her face when she sees me, and I feel something uncomfortable squirm within me. Is that really the sort of reaction I have on her? That I kill any happiness inside of her? I pause, but then hoist the same of charming smile across my features that Finnick might use.

"Dance with me?"

Storm looks at me as though I've asked her to swallow a knife. She pulls up an unconvincing charade, excusing herself from her conversation with the blue-haired woman, and allows me to take her arm. Her hazel eyes are narrowed with suspicion as I lead her over to the chequered dance floor.

"What are you doing?" Storm hisses at me as I turn to her, sliding one arm around her waist and taking her hand with the other. She falls in sync immediately, putting her hands on my shoulder despite her reluctance.

"Dancing, what does it look like?" I ask dryly. A few of the Capitolians have turned to glance at us, gossiping amongst themselves. Good. I want them to watch, and talk, and spread wild rumours. The closer they think I am with Storm, the better. If they believe that I'm heavily involved with the Capitol, they'll be more inclined to support Marvel than either of the District 12 tributes – especially considering Haymitch is now battling the staircase to get to the upstairs bathroom.

"But you hate me," Storm whispers, a confused expression clouding her face. The suspicion in her eyes never goes away. She isn't as stupid as I'd thought. She knows that I'm not the sort to dance with her without wanting something.

"Hate is a strong word," I respond, twirling her and then catching her around the waist again, pulling her close. "I prefer intense dislike."

Her hazel eyes remain focused upon me, hard and unyielding. Storm is clearly not as soft and gullible as I'd thought. She knows that I'm using her. She just doesn't understand why, or what for. The Capitolians use us as pieces in their games. Well, now it's my turn to fight back, in as subtle a way I can. I'm going to use Storm to bleed them dry, to make sure that District 1 has a new Victor. I'm not sure though if I'm saving Marvel's life, or destroying it.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

No matter what anyone tells you, several glasses of wine do not bring about startling revelations that didn't occur to you before. Not even on the mystery of why Gloss asked me to dance with him. He never liked it when I was in close proximity to him, but he had had his arm tight around my waist, his breath hot on my cheek. Even with my three-inch heels on, he was a lot taller than I was. Thinking about it only confused me even more, and I swilled my glass of red wine, red like blood, and finished it all.

Finnick swaggers over to me with that bright smile on his face. I've always thought him handsome, with his sea-green eyes. He takes my hand and kisses it, before straightening up with a slightly devious grin on his face. I restrain myself from giggling. I can still walk straight in my heels, but I'm beginning to grow a bit light-hearted, a bit too warm and content with my surroundings. I think I might be just a little drunk.

"Storm, isn't it?" I nod. "Well, Storm, would you like to dance?"

I would very much like to dance. But words don't seem to be working for me right now, so instead I take Finnick's hand and lead him over to the chequered floor that seems designated for dancing, putting my arms around his neck. He smiles. His hands are warm on the small of my back.

However, only a few moments later, the peace is broken when someone grabs my arm and drags me back. I stagger, only just managing to keep my balance. It's Gloss. His eyes are narrowed and his expression is angry. He releases me and turns his attention upon Finnick, who looks startled at the intrusion.

"Did you get her drunk?" He demands, and I wonder if I'm imagining things. He bares his bright white teeth. I watch as Finnick shakes his head, his expression a mixture of anger and annoyance.

"Of course not. Calm down, Delucan. I think you'll find the young lady had enough to drink without my help."

All my life I've learned to make sense of things. If you keep watching long enough, the bizarreness will eventually form a pattern, and that pattern will lead to everything adding up. But there's no pattern to Gloss, no adding. He's simply a puzzle that I can't put together, that I don't understand. I step back, away from both of them. Gloss scowls at Finnick, who shakes his head and walks away. I walk away, too. I spin around and walk outside, because my dress is too tight and the room is too warm and I can't breathe.

Outside, on the balcony, the air is cool. I glance out over the gardens, lit by lamps like small trapped fireflies. There's a maze down there, hedges trimmed with white roses. It's beautiful, but there's just something so wrong, something I can't put a finger on. Something wet and warm slides down my face and I put my hands on my cheeks. They're tears. I'm crying. Why am I crying?

"You should know better than to fraternise with him."

It's Gloss. I hurriedly wipe away my tears and turn to face him. He can't see any sign of weakness, because he already sees me as pathetic enough. If he sees me crying, he'll sneer at me and deride me. He watches me now with a hard expression, his mouth pressed into a firm line. I can't help but look at his eyes, because people's eyes always tell the truth even if they don't.

"I wasn't fraternising," I reply more snippily than I intend to, "We were just dancing. What's wrong with you, Gloss?"

"What do you mean, what's wrong with me?" His eyes flash and he seizes my wrists, backing me up against the ledge so I'm pressed against the cold stone. "I'm just stopping you from acting like a stupid little fool in front of everyone."

That's not true. His eyes tell me that he's lying. Gloss doesn't like me dancing with Finnick because someone he thinks I'm his. Not in any sort of romantic sense, but like a possession. He wants me to be allied solely with District 1. My dizzy mind struggles to comprehend, but I think I'm sober enough to figure out that Gloss intends to use me for something. For his own gain, or Cashmere's gain, or Marvel's gain.

"Liar." I struggle against him, pull free and slap him across the face. He staggers and looks completely shocked by my actions. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes no matter how hard I try and push them back. I'm so frustrated. Why am I nearly crying? It doesn't make sense...and then it does. "I don't understand you. You're cruel to me and then you play at kindness. It messes with my head. Stop not making sense. It's not fair."

"Not fair?" Gloss demands. In the dim lamplight I can see a red mark forming on his face where I hit him, and I feel a surge of guilt. He has always seen the Capitolians as monsters and I just ruined all of my attempts to prove otherwise. I struck him. I have become what I swore I never was. "What about the Hunger Games? That's what this whole bloody ball is about, did you remember that? It's to celebrate and raise funds for people between the ages of twelve and eighteen, one boy and one girl..."

I put my hands over my ears, childishly. My hair is falling free of its bun, messy and in my face. I don't want to hear about this. I don't want to hear anything about death and despair, even though it's all around me, on the television, in my face. Gloss is a living reminder of the damage that can never be repaired. I shake my head.

"Don't. Stop it."

"Why?" Gloss persists. There's no malice in his eyes, only the solemness of one who's lost too much too young. "It's what your people do to mine."

"Yours and mine?" I repeat incredulously. "Gloss, listen to me. We're not that different. We were just born in different places, that's all. I try and understand, I try and help you...but you need to stop pushing people away. Push me if you want, but not Cashmere, and others who care about you. You need help. It's time to admit it."

"We are _worlds_ apart," Gloss snarls, before stalking back inside, leaving me alone outside in the place where light and darkness became one.


	7. Lost In The Music And Lights

**Chapter Seven: Lost In The Music And Lights**

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**A/N: A huge thanks to all my reviewers as usual: the epic bookworm, WriterFreak101, Theboyfrom3, Team Renly, Darth Rapture and Dyksta. I've also been listening to the song "Monster" by Meg & Dia lately and there's a one-shot sort of linked to this story based on the song. It's...dark. Pretty much follows the song lyrics. It's up on my profile if you want to read it. Be warned though, it is rated M. Not for the faint-hearted.**

**As for this chapter...okay, yes, things are getting a LITTLE bit more romantic for Storm and Gloss. Too fast? Too slow? Tell me what you think!**

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

I'm woken way too early the next morning by the sound of someone vomiting in the bathroom. I immediately come to my senses and shove the blankets off, because my palms are sweaty and I'm worried that one of the ball attendees decided to use my sister after all. I'll find out who it is and snap their neck. It feels nice to think I have the power to do that. Yes, physically, I could easily. But the problem is that you can't just go around killing prominent Capitolians, even if you're a mad Victor.

It's not Cashmere in the bathroom. It's Storm, kneeling down in front of the toilet bowl with her brown hair braided back as she throws up again. My lip curls in contempt. Well, someone certainly can't hold their alcohol very well. How much did she even have last night? I remember everything clearly: her flirting with stupid Odair, a harsh slap across the face, Storm struggling to hold back tears that she had no right to. That hardens my resolve and I pass her by, walking down to find that Cashmere has already started on breakfast.

"Well?" I demand, my eyes flicking momentarily to the television as I take my seat across from her. It's Day 7 and as with the last few days, I wake up paranoid that Marvel might have died during the night. What would happen if he had? Would I take it calmly, or would the animal break its chains and smash anything in sight.

"He's fine." Cashmere exhales deeply. "In fact, there haven't been any deaths since Glimmer and that District 4 girl. It's way too quiet. The Gamemakers are probably getting bored."

The Gamemakers getting bored is never a good sign. This means they'll engineer something. An earthquake, a wildfire, a flood. Anything that will get the tributes' adrenaline pumping, maybe kill a few of them off. I know that Marvel's pretty resourceful and although more quiet than Glimmer, he's probably more intelligent as well. I sit down and help myself to pancakes. The toilet flushes and Storm pads out, barefoot and pale-faced.

"You alright?" Cashmere inquires as Storm sits down for breakfast. The brunette nods and pours herself a glass of juice, downing it before pouring another. "Good. Because you and Gloss are going to pick out what sort of gifts we're sending Marvel with the sponsor money we have."

I glance sharply at my sister. Is she insane? Well, perhaps that's not the right question to be asking. She knows that I don't like Storm, that Storm doesn't like me...but perhaps she picked up on what I was attempting the previous night. Cashmere is smart. Maybe she knows my idea of getting Storm on our side, making it look like we're best friends in order to have the Capitolians gushing over us. They love Storm. I have no idea why, because I find her plain and dull, but I suppose underneath their colourful facades, they're all the same.

"What about you?" I demand.

"I have other thing to do," Cashmere informs me irritably, and I know better than to ask. It could be anything, but there's always the odd chance it could be what we both fear. "Stop being such a child, Gloss. You don't need me to hold your hand up there, do you? Besides, that's Storm's job today."

I glare across at Storm, but she's too focused on the television. She's numb to the prospect, neither pleased nor angry. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not. I push out my chair and get to my feet. Storm and I will be in the public eye once more, so it's important that we make a good impression.

"Get yourself cleaned up," I tell Storm disdainfully, "You look a mess. I'm not going out with you looking like that."

She watches me blankly and I sigh in annoyance and stalk out. I haven't yet reached my room when someone grabs my wrist. I tense and whirl around, to find that Storm looking at me with bright hazel eyes. I sneer at her. She really _does_ look a mess. Her hair is sticking up at all angles and she looks...young. She looks like she could be a teenager.

"I just wanted to apologise for last night."

"Apology accepted," I growl, turning away, but she whirls me back around more insistently.

"I meant properly." She sighs. "I had no right to say those things to you. I don't know you. I don't know why I was struggling to, pretending to. I'm especially sorry that I hit you. That was wrong on so many levels."

I'm...utterly dumbfounded. The Capitol has performed many cruel tortures on me. They have made me mentor District 1 tributes that hunger for glory and honour, only to watch them die violently in the Hunger Games. They have made my sister suffer in ways that I don't need to know about, don't want to know about. They took who I was and destroyed me so completely that I know there's no going back to the Gloss I was before. None of them have ever apologised for any of it, not until Storm. Or if they have, I don't remember because it was never with such sincerity.

She flushes under the intensity of my gaze. I wasn't actually aware that I was staring at her until she averts her eyes and clears her throat. It takes me a moment to find my voice, because after her heartfelt apology, I'm not exactly sure what I can say. I want to sneer at her, to brush her off...but something deep inside of me wants more. Something wants to believe that some Capitolians are human, that if I believe Storm can prove it.

"I...thank you."

It's so stupidly simple, but I don't want to make a big show of myself. I don't want to say anything that I don't mean. Storm smiles wryly, her eyes tired. She nods and releases my wrist. She walks back towards the dining table and I glance at the place where her fingers had closed around my arm. When she let go, there was a sudden loss of heat, like I didn't realise how warm she was.

Great. She's gone and got herself a fever.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I let Gloss pick out what he wants to get for Marvel, because I figure that it's his tribute and I really have no say in the matter. When we're out in public, he's close to me. He doesn't hold my hand or anything, just makes it look like we're suddenly good friends. I don't resent knowing that I'm being used, because I know that there are pawns and players and I have no intention of being a player. So I guess that makes me a pawn.

By the time we're done – well, Gloss is done – it's dark outside upon exiting the store. I glance around the Capitol, now a wonderland of flashing neon lights, pulsating music and loud noise. I can't help but smile despite how much I know Gloss hates the place. Just standing out here makes me want to dance, because with all of this hubbub I can almost forget everything else that's going on right now. That's one of the good things about the Capitol, you can definitely lose yourself in it.

When the limo pulls up, an idea immediately flashes through my mind. It's childish and impulsive...but I still want to do it. I catch Gloss's wrist, causing him to frown at the sudden contact.

"We should go out."

Gloss glances around my city, contempt in his eyes. "Aren't we already out?"

"I mean _out._" I put emphasis on the word as we climb into the back of the limo. "Come on, just for a little bit."

I want to tell him that he could let go, but I know how much Gloss hates it when I pretend to know him, so I hold the words back. He stares out the window at the colourful chaos that makes up the city nightlife, and I know that he's considering. He might be a Victor, and not entirely sane, but there's still some part of Gloss that wants to be able to loosen up, to break free of the shackles if only for a little while. When he turns back, his expression is resigned.

"Alright. Where are we going?"

"The Highwayman," I lean forward to tell the driver, causing a raise of eyebrows from Gloss. It's one of the classier clubs around the place and despite the fact that I feel like a juvenile wanting to go out and about, I know that Gloss and I aren't much older than teenagers really. Maybe it'll do him some good. He doesn't strike me as the sort to go out much, so perhaps I can show him what he's missing out on.

We reach the club and I climb out of the limo, my heels clacking on the concrete path as I make my way towards the line. I know that I shouldn't pull rank, but if we want to get in any time tonight, I'm going to have to. I walk up to the bouncer and smile, flashing my ID and indicating Gloss. Despite Gloss's scowl of displeasure, the bouncer recognises him and lets us in.

"Don't look like you're happy to be here," I tell Gloss, walking over and putting my bag down on one of the tables. His lip is curled with disdain as he watches the people laughing at the bar, swaying on the dancefloor. All Gloss can think about is the Games, is how the Capitol treats the people of the districts. It's almost an obsession.

I wander up to the bar and order two martinis, bringing one back and handing it to Gloss. He observes it as though it might be poison, before he reluctantly takes a sip. He glances around, swills the martini, then takes another sip. I can't help but smile.

"Good, isn't it?"

"It's okay." Gloss still isn't looking happy to be here. I know that he's been in the Capitol a lot over the past six or so years, but the whole time he's been at stuffy Presidential functions or shut up in the Training Centre. He hasn't actually seen anything like The Highwayman before.

"Do you want to dance?" I ask, the words tumbling out of my mouth. Oh god, that was so incredibly stupid. Just because Gloss asked me at the ball the other night, it doesn't mean he'll want to dance at some tacky club. He finishes his martini and nods, much to my astonishment.

"Got to catch the media's attention somehow."

I'm a little disappointed that it's all this is about, gaining more sponsors constantly, but I can't say I didn't expect it. I catch Gloss's hand loosely in mine and lead him over towards the dancefloor. It's definitely a typical club in that aspect, with dry smoke billowing from a machine and strobe lights flickering. Gloss puts his arms around my waist and draws me close. I blink, a bit surprised at the action, which causes him to smirk.

"What? Isn't that how people here dance?"

I shake my head and sway to the beat. Sometimes it's just good to feel young – because technically, I am. I bite my lip and look up, meeting Gloss's eyes. I don't want to look at him, for fear that he'll get irritated and pull away, but it's like I'm being drawn in by a magnet. Why is there something so captivating about someone who is so broken? He notices, looks back with a quizzical expression on his face.

It's right there, written in the bright blue of his eyes. The vulnerability that he's constantly trying to hide. I can't help it – maybe it's the beat throbbing through me, the adrenaline running through me, the lights fading in and out. I lean in and press my lips to his. Gloss tenses against me and I immediately feel defeat, waiting for the moment when he pulls away...but he doesn't.

He kisses back.


	8. Crashing, Not Falling, In Love

**Chapter Eight: Crashing, Not Falling, In Love**

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**A/N: A huge thanks to my reviewers: Team Renly, the epic bookworm, WriterFreak101, Dyksta, theboyfrom3 and May Babyee.**

**Okay, so I was also asked about what I thought of the casting of Gloss. Alan Ritchson is an attractive man, and I guess he's not too far off what I imagined for Gloss. They could have picked worse. Plus I find it ironic that he's 6'2 and Stephanie Leigh Schlund (who will play Cashmere) is 5'8, so they're kind of scary accurate for what I imagined Gloss and Cashmere. Yeah, I'm one of those nuts who gets picky about heights.**

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

I wake up the next morning and stare at the ceiling for a while, like it can solve all of life's problems. Storm kissed me. She kissed me, and I kissed back. I don't know what that means. Hell, it doesn't even mean I care about her. People kiss all the time and it doesn't mean anything. It was for show. It was all for the media who were undoubtedly watching us the whole time. With that affirmation, I slip out of my bed and pad into the dining room.

It can't be coincidental that Storm's the only other one awake. She's there in her patterned pyjamas with her brown hair braided back. She looks up and immediately averts her eyes once more when she sees it's me. She flushes and a smirk curls the corners of my lips as I notice this.

"Don't flatter yourself," I tell her firmly, "That kiss didn't mean a thing."

"I know," Storm replies simply, spooning yoghurt over her muesli. She's so infuriatingly calm. It's almost as if last night never happened. I remember breaking away from Storm after the kiss, walking outside to more flashing cameras. They were blindingly bright and all I can remember after that is Storm hauling me into a limousine that took us back to the Training Centre.

"How is our tribute faring?" Cashmere inquires as she walks into the dining room, and I mentally curse. I was so busy trying to erase that stupid kiss that I'd completely forgotten about Marvel. I whirl around and switch on the television. Day 8 and there are still a few Careers alive: both from 2, and Marvel. They had also picked up a District 3 boy, but right now I can see smoke billowing from their former supply tower.

The boy from District 2 stalks over and snaps the neck of the small boy from District 3, almost quicker than I can blink. Well, what a nice spot of death to wake up to. Marvel and the District 2 girl – I think her name is Clove – argue with each other, with the District 2 boy. There's a dark look across the kid's face and I can tell just by looking at him that he's the leader of the Career pack. The others might bicker, but when he barks at them, they snap back into line.

"He's alive," I state dryly, as Marvel hefts up his spear and charges after the pair from District 2. I'm not sure how their supplies – or lack thereof – got into such a state, but I'm guessing they were sabotaged by another tribute. Marvel could really use the sponsor gifts right now. If Cashmere sent them last night, it's already too late.

Storm heaves a sigh of relief and sits down heavily. I glance sharply across at her. What's with her? It's not like Marvel's her tribute. She just escorts us all around the place, informed the kids of their daily routine. We hardly even need her around anymore. Cashmere glances between the pair of us, a sly smile crossing her lips. I glare at her and when she pouts her lips, I clench my hands into fists. So Cashmere knows that Storm kissed me. Yeah, freaking fantastic, just what I always wanted.

* * *

Day 9 dawns with death. Marvel manages to trap the little girl from District 11, but is shot dead by that bitch from District 12. I stare at the screen, dazed, as he falls. Storm enters the room when his cannon goes off, but I'm so intent on listening as his cannon goes off that I can only recognise it's her by the mousy brown of her hair. Words completely fail me. Both tributes from my district are dead. What's there to say? I feel a selfish anger, angry because none of them could take my place in this hell that is the Capitol.

I push myself to my feet, my entire frame tense. There's a wary expression on Storm's face and I know what she's expecting. She's just waiting for me to lash out, break things, go into a rage. But I've found another alternative. It's one that's far more dangerous than that, so much more addictive. It's a darkness I didn't ever know I craved because before the other night at The Highwayman, it was forbidden.

I stalk over to Storm. She stiffens, eyes flashing with fear. Clearly, she's expecting a slap. I grab her by the shoulders and press her against the wall, but instead of hitting her, I jam my lips to hers. How can this make me feel better? Something inside me is screaming. Is it wrong, or is it right?

Storm melts slightly and I fist a hand through her hair, deepening the kiss. I don't need her. It's not her at all. It's just the raw passion I crave. My free hand finds the small of her back, pressing her tighter against me. I want her to bite back, make me taste blood, but she doesn't. My lips trail down her neck, teeth grazing the tender skin, before she pushes me away.

"Gloss, stop." Her eyes are shining and I can see that she's conflicted. "You don't want this. This isn't you."

What is me? Am I really nothing more than a brute who hits to make himself feel better? I feel disgusted. If that is what I am, I'm changing now. I understand that the Capitol isn't my puppeteer. They aren't responsible for my actions. They might have changed me, but they didn't make me a monster. It was my _choice_. That makes me feel sick and I step away from Storm, swallowing hard, hands clenched into fists. She says I don't want this. But what do I want?

"Calm down." Her lips are already red from my attentions and she reaches out a hand as if to offer comfort, but then draws it back again, hesitant. "Marvel's dead. I know it must sting, but there's nothing you can do about it now. I'm sorry."

Most of what Storm says makes sense. She's not trying to be a know-it-all. She's just stating the facts – except she's wrong about one thing. After seeing so many tributes from District 4 die, Marvel's death doesn't sting. In fact, it makes me feel nothing at all.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I've been in the bathroom for nearly an hour now. The door's locked and everything hurts. My head is aching, my stomach muscles are throbbing in protest from so much sobbing. The tears won't stop running down my face, and my eyes feel swollen and sore. I wish it was Marvel that I was crying for. That at least would make sense. Instead I'm crying for reasons that are so much more selfish and confusing. There's a fine line between love and hate, and I think I'm dangerously close to crossing it.

How can you tell if you're in love with someone? Is it the irrevocable need to take their broken pieces and put them back together? All I know is that I shouldn't have kissed Gloss in the club that night. Things have just got so much more complicated since then. Now that Marvel's dead, I know that it won't be long before the Hunger Games end...before he and Cashmere return to District 1. I'm not sure how it makes me feel. I think it's the frustration more than anything that's making me rip at my hair and cry.

The door creaks up and I hold myself tight, knees curled to my chest. I flinch at the possibility that it's Gloss, that he will berate me for showing such a pathetic weakness. Instead I glance up to see Cashmere, standing frozen in the doorway. There's shock and sympathy written across her face and I wonder if she knows just by looking at me that I'm in love with her brother.

"Storm..." She exhales deeply and comes to sit beside me. At first she observes me a little curiously, then wraps her arms around me and tugs me close. I'm struck by her kindness, a kindness that's the blatant opposite of her brother's sneers. "You love him."

So she does know. That only makes me cry harder, because my secret is no longer just mine. I wonder if Cashmere will tell Gloss. I rake a hand through my hair and force myself to settle down. It's such a selfish and stupid reason to be crying. Aren't people in love supposed to be happen? If so, why does it feel like someone's stuck a knife between my ribs? Once I'm calm, I stumble to my feet and over to the sink.

I look a mess. My hair's all over the place and my eyes are puffy and red from crying. I shake my head and run the tap, splashing cold water over my face. Cashmere watches me and makes no move to get up from her spot on the tiles. Her blue eyes are full of concern and something like...understanding?

"It's hard, isn't it?"

I frown slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Loving Gloss." Cashmere heaves a sigh and pushes herself to her feet, grabbing a brush and running it through my unruly hair. It feels me with a sense of peace, as though we're two ordinary girls at a sleepover, best friends sharing a secret. Only Cashmere is an abused Victor from District 1, and I'm from the Capitol. I wince as the brush's teeth snags my hair. "He's my baby brother. Sometimes it's so difficult and I want to give up...but that's the thing about love. When you love someone, you can't hate them no matter how hard you try. That's why I told Gloss never to fall in love."

My breath hitches in my throat. "So does he..."

"Love you?" The question's asked without mockery or malice, but my heart sinks because I already know the answer to it. "No. No he doesn't."

I suppose, it should hurt less that way. It should mean that over time, my feelings will fade. How do I even know I love him? I'm too busy vehemently denying that it's love to even consider the truth. The problem with loving Gloss is that he will sneer at me, push me around like I'm his personal ragdoll...and I'll take it, because he needs something to take his frustration out on.

"When do you go back?" I inquire of Cashmere. Maybe that's just what I need. Maybe when the Delucan siblings leave, I can be truly at peace. With Gloss out of my life, at least for another year, my stupid feelings will dwindle and fade. It's a fool's hope really, because they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"When all of this is over." Cashmere puts the brush down and works my hair into a thick braid. "I'll be glad when it is."

She'll be glad...for a time. I know the cycle now. There'll be relief until the next reapings, when Gloss grows violent and out of control at the thought of sending another boy and girl from his district to die. I wonder if I would be the same, if it was people I knew. If it were the Capitol Games, I suppose it would be a different feeling entirely.

I wish I could lend Cashmere some sort of support, but she's alone. She's always been alone, having to care for her crazy brother. Sometimes I wonder if he's really insane, or just pretending to be so that no one can see any differently. It doesn't matter, because when I think on it, I realize I'll probably never know.


	9. Animals

**Chapter Nine: Animals**

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**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone for the reviews! I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

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**Gloss's POV**

Cashmere stumbles into the room with blood streaming from her nose and mouth. I'm on feet in seconds, rushing over to catch her as she staggers and nearly falls. There's a bruise forming on her cheek and the livid rage starts to build up inside me, a fire that I know won't burn out. I know that some of her clients aren't exactly gentle, but I haven't ever seen her beaten up this badly. Whoever did this won't live to see tomorrow, of that I'm certain. No one has the right to treat my sister like this. I will hunt down whoever did this, and snap their neck.

"Who was it?" I demand.

Cashmere regains her composure quickly. She's always been like that. She snaps back so easily that it's frightening. She straightens herself and strides into the bathroom, picking up a flannel and washing the blood off her face. I watch her incredulously from the doorway. I want to help her, I have to. She's my sister. The only problem is that I know she won't let me. So I have to take matters into my own hands.

"It doesn't matter, Gloss," Cashmere replies absently, washing the blood off the flannel. I watch it run red down the drain. My hands clench into fists of rage. I will find out who did this, no matter the cost.

"It matters to me," I insist, slamming my fist into the wall. I can't help the anger that washes over me, holding me under. I could take the pain to myself. My knuckles now throb, but it's not me I care about. It's the fact that the Capitolians are hurting Cashmere, the only one in my family who understands me now, who isn't afraid of me. "Dammit, Cash! Tell me his name!"

"Hyperion Dormer." It's not Cashmere, but Storm. I whirl around and notice that she's standing in the corridor, watching me with an impassive expression. How can she be so calm if she knows who the man is that did this? "He's a former Gamemaker."

I think it's meant to be a warning. Storm knows what happens when I lose control of myself, and by informing me of Hyperion's high rank in the Capitol she hopes that I'll have the sense to leave him be. Only, I'm beyond caring about rank anymore. I will pummel the living daylights out of this man no matter what. If Storm thinks that someone's station means they can treat people like shit, she can think again.

Hyperion Dormer...the name rings a bell. I think he was in charge of the 71st or 72nd Hunger Games. I think of a man in his early thirties, with dark hair and a permanent sneer. I'm almost certain that's him, and disgust courses through me. Hasn't he tortured tributes enough in the arena? Why does he feel the need to harm my sister? There's a fury boiling inside me and no one can calm it down this time, not Cashmere, not Storm. Only my fist making contact with that bastard's face. I stalk out of the room. Storm hurries after me, catching my arm.

"Gloss, no, wait. Hyperion will have you killed if you try anything..."

"_I don't care anymore_!" I swing around to face her, teeth bared in rage. She flinches back, perhaps thinking I might hit her – but there's only one target of my wrath today, and it's not her. "Don't you see how much it hurts her? Don't you understand how sick I feel, seeing these men using my sister like she's a whore? I've had enough, Storm. _No more_."

Her eyes are wide with horror. She realises that I mean every word of it. I would gladly kill Hyperion, but the problem is I don't want the Capitol to hurt Cashmere. Let them punish me all they want, because my sister has suffered enough. I twist my arm from Storm's grasp and stalk out into the corridor. I will Hyperion Dormer if it's the last thing I do. Storm trails after me somewhat reluctantly, although I don't understand why.

There he is, the son of a bitch, waiting for the lift. I grab him, spin him around and slam him against the wall. He's a few inches shorter than me, and a lot thinner. The man has a smug expression on his face and a ridiculous little black goatee on his chin. He laughs a little even as my hand tightens around his throat.

"Gloss Delucan. I haven't met you before, but I have had the...pleasure...of being acquainted with your dear sister."

I roar in rage and punch him hard enough to break his nose. Maybe he thinks despite his snide words, he's untouchable. I'll prove him wrong. I'll beat him so hard he won't be able to walk straight for days. Hyperion falters slightly, a groan of pain escaping him. Blood streams down from his nose and I can't help but be viciously pleased. It's like I'm back in the Games, about to kill another tribute. I throw Hyperion to the ground.

I slam my foot into the man's ribs. I hope I break them. It would teach him a lesson. He coughs and flips onto his back, grimacing in pain. That's the problem with these people. They think they're so bloody powerful but when it comes down to it, we Victors could kill them in an instant. I notice that Storm's watching. I expect horror or shock in her hazel eyes when I make eye contact. I don't expect disgust directed at Hyperion.

"Storm." Hyperion's voice is hoarse with pain as he staggers to his feet. He doesn't look like a rich ex-Gamemaker to me. He looks small and vulnerable and pathetic. Now he knows what it's like to be a tribute in the Hunger Games, to be at someone's mercy when you know they have none. "Call him off."

A range of emotions flash across Storm's face so fast that I can't even tell what they are. The last thing I see is anger before she slaps Hyperion hard. I'm not sure who's more surprised – Storm, Hyperion, or me. He staggers from the force of the blow, shock lighting his eyes as he stares accusingly at her. I wasn't expecting quiet, demure Storm to hit one of her own. Her mouth is twisted in contempt.

"They aren't animals, Hyperion," she spits at him as he ruefully rubs his cheek, "You can't treat them like they're dirt underneath your feet, or they will fight back. Don't expect me to show you pity, because you don't deserve it."

Storm's words are harsh and decisive. I haven't ever seen this side of her before, the strong young woman who knows exactly what she's saying. Normally she's just agreeing or disagreeing with the views of others, but now I can see whose side she's on. Just because she was born in the Capitol, I realise it doesn't make her a Capitolian. Hyperion leans against the wall heavily, wiping blood from his nose and glowering furiously at Storm.

"You will regret this, Storm Asterbury," he hisses, "You have defied the Capitol. The President will be notified of this. You will pay. Your preference for the districts is now clear. Maybe you want to become one of them. Such a shame you're too old to be reaped for the Hunger Games."

"Your words are empty," Storm retorts, but I can see the panic flaring in her eyes. By the smirk crossing Hyperion's thin lips, he notices it, too. He presses the lift button and limps in as it opens, offering us one last sneer as the gold doors close. I turn to Storm, seeing the worry creasing her forehead.

"Why did you do that?"

"What do you mean?" She sounds a bit confused, as though she can't remember anything in the past five minutes. "Hit him? Because he was asking for it."

I nod silently, but I'm still reeling inside. She has put herself in a dangerous situation because of her actions. She did it to defend me, to defend Cashmere. It wasn't something that had to be done and as I watch Storm now, I'm still undecided as to whether it was brave, stupid, or a little bit of both.

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**Storm's POV**

I try not to hyperventilate, but it's getting hard. I know there are going to be consequences for my actions. Hyperion's a very powerful figure in the Capitol, and on good terms with President Snow. I'm just a twenty-year-old escort with no authority over anyone. I rake my hands through my brown hair and continue to pace. That's all I can do at the moment. My stomach is twisted with apprehension and my hands are shaking. What was I thinking, hitting Hyperion? Was I out of my mind? Hyperion had always been a rather cruel man. He would probably convince Snow to have me executed.

"Storm?" Cashmere stands in my doorway. Despite the bruises on her face, she's still stunning. Sometimes I envy her for always being beautiful. Other times, I'm glad that I'm only passably pretty, because her beauty seems to be her curse. "Gloss told me about what you did. I just wanted to say thank you. For defending us."

"He's going to kill me." The words seem to escape even though I don't want them to. I fist my hands into my hand and tug, not that it helps at all. Cashmere crosses over and takes my hands in hers, and there's sympathy written across her face. I don't know what District 1 thinks of her, but I doubt they want her dead like the Capitol will when they learn what I did to Hyperion.

"Maybe you should come back to District 1 with us."

"What?" I'm surprised at that. There are still a few tributes alive in the Games – the boy from 2, the girl from 5, the boy from 11 and both from 12. It seems like it's a good year for the lower districts this year. Nonetheless, this means I only have probably a few more days to decide what I want to do. "You can't be serious. Hyperion already said I favour the districts, that would just be proving it true. Besides, they would all hate me there. I'm a Capitolian..."

Cashmere smiles wryly. "Not everyone's like Gloss. Our district's been treated pretty well by the Capitol on the whole. Besides, you're different, even if you and Gloss can't see that. As for the favouritism claims? Just tell them you're on a progress report. Escorts do that in Districts 1, 2 and 4 from time to time, because we train our tributes. It's nothing that won't have been done before."

Sometimes, I think Cashmere is a better friend than I deserve. How can she be so kind to me, when so many others in the Capitol have been so cruel? I don't know how she can see me as different. Gloss thinks we're all the same. How can two siblings have such different perspectives? Cashmere seems like she wants to forgive, like she wants to move on, while Gloss is still floundering in his hatred.

"Okay." My voice is quiet. I can't believe I'm doing this. I've been to District 1 all of one time, for the reaping. Now both teenagers are dead. I don't quite know that I want to go back there, but lying low seems like the best option for now. It's not exactly like there's a lot else that I can do.

"Running away from your own people?" Gloss's voice is disdainful. I turn wearily to face him. What exactly does he want from me? Am I meant to throw myself at his feet and beg forgiveness for what I am? I thought that maybe I'd gained acceptance, but I suppose I was wrong. "You're taking refuge in our district now?"

"Stop it, Gloss," Cashmere says warningly, but her younger brother ignores her. His words aren't deliberately malicious, but they're harsh. He doesn't understand why someone from the Capitol should ever have a place in what is his home. Maybe my presence makes him feel uncomfortable. He can never know about my feelings for him. I think if he did, it would only make him more of a mess than he already is.

"I defended you from Hyperion," I argue, starting to grow a little irritated. If Gloss is going to continue to view me with disdain, why not give him a real reason to? "I could have..."

"Could have what?" Gloss replies, raising an eyebrow in an almost amused fashion. "You couldn't have stopped me from hurting him, Storm. Don't try and convince yourself that we owe you anything. We don't owe you shelter, Cashmere just has a kinder heart than I do."

His words sting, but I won't let him see it. I just lift my chin and meet his hard gaze, like I've hardly ever done before. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of him, though. Not like I used to be. It's Hyperion I fear, his vengeance for what I've done. When Hyperion says that someone will pay, he means it. Gloss is just broken, but Hyperion is a true monster, a creature without limitations.

"You should get your things together," Cashmere informs me, deliberately ignoring Gloss. I wonder if it's come down to this, if I'm what stands between them now. "We'll have our Victor in a matter of days."

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There's one person I have to see before I leave the Capitol. I take the lift all the way up to level 12. When I enter I'm greeted enthusiastically by Effie. She's fairly nice and very talkative and she wants to have a tea together and a chat, from one escort to another. I have to break it to her that I'm actually here to see Cinna, if he's around. Haymitch is snoring on the couch and isn't aware of anything.

"Storm." Cinna walks in and I smile to see another Capitolian dressed in an understated way like me. Of course, Hyperion is fairly understated at times, but I don't like to count him. "What brings you up from level 1?"

"I wanted to see you." Cinna and I have been friends since I was a teenager. Originally my ambition was to be a stylist, but I soon found I didn't have that same sort of artistic flair. I'd always envied Cinna's apparently effortless designs, how he could make simple things seem so beautiful. "I need to talk to you. Something bad's happened."

His expression grows concerned and he leads me into the dining room, sitting me down and having a juice poured for me. Cinna is one of the few Capitolians I feel that I can trust. So I spill everything. I tell him about Hyperion, and my 'progress report' in District 1, about how I fear President Snow will kill me. A gentle smile crosses Cinna's face and he pats my hand.

"You worry too much," he says, "Although, what you did was risky. I don't know for sure what Hyperion will do, but maybe it is better if you go to District 1 for the time being. You'll be safer there until everything calms down. Cashmere's a smart woman."

I smile and climb to my feet. It's always good to have Cinna's support. I know what I did was stupid, but I just want to forget now. I remember Cinna's design for the chariots, how the tributes from District 12 were on fire. It's not something easily forgotten. I embrace him tightly, resting my chin on his shoulder before I force myself to step away. Cinna smiles again, a little sadly.

"I'll see you next year," I inform him adamantly, having to fiercely believe my own words, that I really will come home. "For the Quarter Quell."


	10. The Blame Game

**Chapter Ten: The Blame Game**

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**A/N: A huge thanks to my reviewers: flying at the speed of sound, Team Renly, WriterFreak101, Darth Rapture, Total Targaryen and SafeEyesOpen. I would also love you forever if you checked out and reviewed my new Cato/OC fic, She Wolf.**

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**Storm's POV**

I know that I couldn't stay with the Delucan siblings. Cashmere would have let me, in fact, she'd even offered. It wasn't her I worried about. It was Gloss's constant sneering, the knowledge that he would see me as coward depending on them. Besides, that would only confirm Hyperion's theory that I was closer to the people in the districts than other Capitolians. So instead I found a modest little apartment in downtown District 1 and spent most of my inheritance money on renting.

It is two months after the 74th Hunger Games before I see Gloss again. Cashmere is a constant – she liked to check up and make sure that I was fitting in well, a courtesy I wish I'd had the sense to extend to her back in the Capitol. She comes around once a week and we would have coffee. I quickly find that despite our differences, Cashmere and I are what you could probably call friends. It is something I'm not used to. I have plenty of acquaintances back in the Capitol, but not really many people I could trust.

"Lexus Kyden is having a dinner function tonight." Cashmere sits across from me and stirs her latte. It feels odd. It feels like we are normal people, something I am not used to. We'd always seen the Victors differently in the Capitol, but now I am beginning to understand Cashmere. Gloss, on the other hand – humiliatingly enough, my feelings for him haven't waned, but I also feel like he was a box I am never supposed to unlock. Pandora's box, maybe.

"He's the jewellery maker?" I inquire, earning a nod from Cashmere. I know most of the wealthier families and people in District 1. Lexus is no exception. He is a pompous man who seems to think he had the world under his thumb. He has never participated in the Games, but is renowned for befriending District 1 Victors. As District 1 produced luxury items, a man with a company as large as Kyden Jewellers is generally seen as very wealthy indeed.

"It will be boring most likely," Cashmere says dryly, finishing off the last dregs of her latte and inspecting her mug. "It'll be a chance for you to socialise, though. As you're supposedly here on a progress report, it would make a lot of sense to attend."

Sometimes, I wish Cashmere wasn't so smart. She seems to have everything pieced together, everything except her own life which is crumbling around her. I know there's no point in protesting. I haven't been out since I arrived in District 1. It might do me some good to get into some social circles. Cashmere regards me with a slightly amused expression, for a moment.

"Gloss is coming."

"Cashmere!" I exclaim, embarrassed. I feel like a schoolgirl with a childish crush on an older boy. My feelings for Gloss Delucan are still jumbled and confused, and I have no desire to try and sort them out. He clearly doesn't feel the same way, so what's the point in trying? I try and mask my humiliation by taking another sip of my cappuccino.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow. "You've been hiding from, don't pretend otherwise. I promise he's better now, Storm. He's home in District 1. He's not as volatile. Please, just give him a chance."

I sigh heavily. That's the problem, though. I would give Gloss a thousand chances to prove himself and he would destroy them all. He would hate me if he knew the extent of my feelings, so I'm never going to tell him. I don't feel like being mocked or despised for something I can't help. Cashmere's got me trapped in a net, and I feel like she's trying to pull Gloss and I together no matter how much we want to be apart.

"Alright. I'll come." I set down my mug and rake a hand through my brown hair. It's not something I look forward to, but at least I know I have plenty of clothes for the occasion. Perhaps that's one of the positives of being a Capitolian. Cashmere beams across at me and I shake my head at her bright white smile.

"Excellent. We'll pick you up at eight."

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Lexus Kyden is not a modest man. This becomes obvious from the moment we reach his manor. Of course, it's nothing to rival President Snow's, but it's still huge in comparison with the other houses I've seen in District 1. Out the front there are fountains illuminated by bright lights. Maybe it's just a figment of my imagination, but I swear I see a flamingo disappear among the trees.

We walk inside and it's just as opulent. Lexus comes up and introduces himself. He is a fat man who looks as though he's eaten more than half of District 1's food all by himself. I don't say this, though. I just smile and shake his sweaty hand, before retreating to the drinks table to pick up a champagne. It's not him I'm trying to avoid, it's Gloss. He stands there in his suit and although his smile is charming as he greets people, his eyes are cold as ice.

"Miss Asterbury, fancy seeing you here."

I suddenly freeze, before I turn to see Hyperion with a glass of champagne in his hand and a mocking smile playing about his lips. Of course – I had completely forgotten that Hyperion and Lexus were friends. I clutch my glass more tightly and try to ignore the fact that I feel like I'm trapped. Perhaps this is what the tributes feel like when they're reaped for the Hunger Games. No escape.

"Hyperion."

I quickly turn and make my leave, my heart beating a violent tattoo against my ribcage. I know that he can't do anything while we're in a room full of crowded people, but I can tell that he still hates me. When Hyperion hates someone, bad things generally tend to happen to them. I sit down and eat my rosemary lamb in silence, listening to Cashmere's banter with a silver-haired gentleman. Gloss sits a few seats down, but I deliberately ignore him. I don't even make eye contact.

Across the table, I see two young women whispering to each other, shooting me critical glances every now and again. They know that I'm a Capitolian, even though I don't have the ridiculous colours to back it up. I feel that I'm being judged, criticised. One of the young women laughs, glancing over at me again. They fall silent when the dessert arrives, but by that stage I've already had enough.

A quick survey of the table assures me that I don't belong here. Many others, even older District 1 citizens, are assessing me with frowns, or else smirks. I'm an outsider to them. So is Hyperion, though, but I don't see him getting disapproving glances. Perhaps he's been saying things about me, spreading rumours. It's childish, but I wouldn't believe it to be beyond him. I down the rest of my champagne and get to my feet. Maybe I can find the flamingo I swear I saw earlier.

I wander outside and I'm immediately soothed by the sound of the trickling water of the fountains. I venture through the trees, although this proves difficult considering my stupid stiletto heels. I take them off and hurl them into a fountain, realising how immature it was only after they've sunk into the water. Maybe I'll go and get them back later. For now, I sit down on a stone bench, listening to the laughter and music inside. I'm an outsider. I'm where I belong, out alone in the dark...only, I'm not alone.

"Storm." Hyperion appears once again, an unwanted presence, something haunting my footsteps. I can tell by the way he walks that he's at least a bit drunk. I immediately jump to my feet, intending to move inside, but he catches my wrist. "What's the matter? I thought you were enjoying the peace and quiet."

"I was," I admit, "But then you arrived and disrupted it."

He chuckles, seemingly more amused than insulted by my words. His grip on my wrist is tight enough to bruise. I attempt to yank free, but Hyperion slams me into a tree. Pain ripples up my back. I try and push at him with my other hand, but he grabs that wrist too and twists. I cry out.

"You really do like District 1 better than the Capitol." He laughs mirthlessly and there's something dangerous shining in his eyes as he presses me harder against the tree trunk. "Perhaps you should become more like them. Maybe I should bruise you like I bruised Cashmere. You two do seem very close."

I don't understand what he's saying, and I get the feeling that I don't want to. I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he leans closer, and I feel sickened. He digs his nails into my wrists and I bite my lip – and then his hands seem to be all over me, his lips burning at the skin on my neck. That's when I understand completely, and I frantically shove at him as he runs a hand up the small of my back. His fingers find the zip on my dress, fumbling with it.

I cry out again and he slaps me sharply. My head buzzes as one of his hands clutches at my waist, the other still attempting to work the zip of my dress. I squeeze my eyes shut and then I feel him being violently pulled away, and my eyes snap open. Gloss stands between Hyperion and I. There's fury shining out from his blue eyes as he examines the Capitolian man, who staggers as he tries to recover himself.

"Leave. Now." The two words are full of such raw anger and hatred that Hyperion is all too hasty to hurry away. When he's gone, Gloss turns his attention on me as I fix up my dress and rake a hand through my hair. "Are you alright?"

Wait, _what?_ Gloss is actually concerned for my wellbeing? I thought perhaps he tore Hyperion away from me because it reminded him of what the man had done to his sister. I blink. It also amazes me that he showed restraint and didn't beat Hyperion to a pulp. I guess there a lot of things that I don't understand tonight.

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**Gloss's POV**

I watch as Storm fixes herself up. She tries to even her breathing, but I can tell that she is still shaken by what has just happened. I always knew Hyperion was a slimy son of a bitch. He hurt my sister and he was trying to hurt Storm. But there's something more to my rage than just that, something that I have to pin onto Storm because I don't see how it can possibly be my fault.

"You're all I ever think about anymore," I spit the words at her, and she looks surprised at my venom. "You're inside my head. You're infecting me. I just want to stop thinking about you. I just want you gone."

I don't mean to be cruel. I just need to understand. How can she be on my mind when I've had two months away from her? It doesn't make any sense. It's like I've developed an addiction and it's grown stronger over time. That's why I didn't protest when Cashmere informed me that Storm would be coming tonight. That's why I felt the need to defend her when I saw Hyperion all over her.

"How is that my fault?" Storm demands, planting her hands on her hips. The animal inside me wants to pull her to me and kiss her...but no. I don't really want to. Something is trying to corrupt me deep inside, test my limits. "I don't _make _you think about me. I don't want it either."

She bites her lip and for a moment, I'm confused. Does she mean that she has the same emotional complications that I do? I can see the fountain and lights reflected in her eyes, and for a moment I think she might cry. Storm turns away, folding her arms around herself. I watch and I finally get it. We both have these...these _feelings._ We don't understand them. We don't want them.

"Storm..." I reach out and touch her arm. It's a motion with a gentleness I didn't know I possessed, not towards this Capitol girl. She shoves my arm off, not wanting any physical contact. She whirls around to face me and I see now that there are tears, streaming down her cheeks and making dark rings around her eyes.

"Don't," she insists. I can tell that she means to push me away, but somehow I just find myself drawn closer. It's unexplainable. I hold her close and she is content for a moment, before struggling to free herself as if my arms are a prison. I do the only thing I can think of to calm her down – I kiss her.

She stills, but doesn't draw away. After a moment she melts like a marshmallow over flames, kissing back. We both want this, but at the same time there's a part of us that doesn't. I forget that part and let my arms encircle her waist, pulling her closer against me. Storm's arms wrap around my neck and for a moment, nothing else matters.

I slide my hands up her sides and her fingers thread through my blond hair. It's intoxicating, like the time at the club only better. I'm lost in her, in myself. I don't want the moment to end. I tighten my grip around her waist and she gasps. I forget about anything that isn't her, but after a moment Storm pulls away, shaking her head.

"I...I can't. Not after what just happened..."

A surge of loathing towards Hyperion courses through me once more. I release Storm and step back, watching her. She's not scared. Well, at least, not of me. It's Hyperion who haunts her now. I make a fierce promise to myself that I won't let him hurt her again. Not her, or Cashmere. I let her step away and take a deep breath. She needs this space. I won't frighten her by restricting it.

"I'm sorry if you thought I was leading you on," Storm murmurs, becoming the demure Capitolian once more as she averted her eyes. I know she doesn't mean to be addictive. It's not sexual allure that's led me to her. In fact I don't really know what it is. We're from such different worlds, thrown together in a twist of fate. Hell, maybe I've had too much to drink as well.

"It's fine," I tell her gruffly, taking her arm and leading her back inside. I don't know if Hyperion has really gone or is just lurking, but I don't want to risk it. So I steer her in and sit her down beside Cashmere, before vanishing for the rest of the night.

* * *

I dream of a fire that engulfs a nation, and Hyperion's head amidst the flames. I wake sweating and panting, twisted up in the sheets. I rake my hands through my lank hair and try and calm myself down, before I get up and pour myself a juice, sitting in the kitchen and swilling it vacantly. It takes me a moment to realise that Cashmere is sprawled on the lounge. She sits up slowly.

"What happened last night?"

I throw her a quizzical glance, my mind still blurry from sleep. She wanders over and I see there's a hard light in her eyes. I wonder how much Storm told her, or rather, didn't tell her. Cashmere seems unimpressed, and I don't understand why I'm always the villain.

"Storm was shaking when you brought her back in. What did you do to her?"

"What did _I _do to her?" I repeat incredulously. I don't think Storm would blame me, so I'm guessing that Cashmere just interpreted her silence wrongly. It probably didn't help that I brought Storm inside, sat her down and just left for a few more drinks. "You should be asking what Hyperion did to her."

Cashmere flinches. I regret my brash words because I can see that what Hyperion did is still a sore spot. She bites at her lip and I can see the silent question in her eyes, the one she doesn't want to voice.

"He didn't rape her," I assure her quickly, putting an arm around her shoulders, "But...it looked like he was trying to. She freaked out. I wanted to rip his head off."

The real question is, why didn't I? I was definitely angry enough. I think the reason was because I didn't want to frighten Storm. She was already shaken up enough. The thought crawls into my mind, unwanted like a slow poison. A realisation. My feelings for Storm aren't just lust, or anything to do with passion. I'm developing...romantic feelings for her. Cashmere told me that I should never fall in love. I wouldn't admit it to her, and especially not to myself...but maybe my sister knew what she was talking about.


	11. Bitter Victory

**Chapter Eleven: Bitter Victory**

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**A/N: As always, a huge thanks to my reviewers: Supachick92, our little infinity, Darth Rapture, Smizzlemort and Total Targaryen. **

**Riiiight so I'm guessing a lot of you won't like how quickly things between Storm and Gloss develop in this chapter...but they're both a bit mentally screwed up right now about their feelings, not to mention what happens is significant for later in the story.**

**Warning: some sexual themes in this chapter, but nothing explicitly M-rated**

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

I am legitimately amazed that I haven't smashed anything. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games, arrived in District 1 today. I couldn't condemn them for winning – someone has to. But it just reminded me of the failure of the District 1 tributes in the past few years, how I had been the last to survive the Games. A grimness settled over me then, when I realised just how easy it was to die. Lives were snuffed out like candles, the lives of frightened teenagers with weapons forced into their hands.

Cashmere doesn't seem surprised at all to see me on the couch sipping a beer when she returns from the celebrations with Storm in tow. Of course they would have go. It was Storm's obligation as a Capitolian escort, and while I was feigning sick Cashmere had still found it in herself to go. Cashmere crosses over with a scowl and snatches the can of beer from my hand, setting it down on the table.

"Don't turn into Haymitch from 12, Gloss. Drinking doesn't become you."

Storm sits beside me and her expression is solemn. I don't look at her because I don't want to see the pity in her eyes. I hope she doesn't think things have changed due to what happened the other night with me stopping Hyperion. I'm just as fucked up as I was then, meaning I still don't want anything like a relationship with Storm. Cashmere replaces the beer with a juice, which I sip gratefully.

"There's always a chance," Storm informs me, but it's one of those times when you don't need optimism. I wish the voice of reason would just shut up and leave me alone to brood. "Someone from District 1 might win in the 75th Hunger Games."

Cashmere sinks into a chair across from me and I note that her expression has darkened considerably. I know exactly why. Every twenty-five years, the Capitol issues a Quarter Quell. For the 25th Hunger Games, the districts were forced to vote for the tributes they would send into the arena. For the 50th Hunger Games, double the amount of tributes was sent in. If I remember correctly, that's the year Haymitch Abernathy won. The 75th Hunger Games are only a cause for apprehension.

"The Capitol will twist the Games," Cashmere informs Storm, as if she could have forgotten. Really Storm should know better than anyone else. I can imagine Hyperion hissing in Snow's ear like a venomous snake, trying to hurt us in any way he can. My lip curls in disgust at the thought.

"There's something else." Cashmere and I both glance at Storm, who is playing with her hands and gnawing at her lip. I can tell by the way she's fidgeting that something is wrong and when she looks up, her hazel eyes are troubled. "There's a rebellion rising in District 8."

* * *

Cashmere goes out, but Storm stays in. My sister will sometimes go shopping in her light hearted moments, calling it retail therapy. I don't understand it, but it's good to see that she's in a bright mood, especially since I'm not. At first I think that Storm is waiting around for Cashmere to get back, but it soon becomes clear she's staying to talk to me. It's not really a prospect I'm comfortable with.

"Gloss?" Storm swirls a mango juice in her hand, looking down into its murky contents before glancing back across at me. "I just wanted to talk to you. About the other night. When Hyperion..."

I know she doesn't want to finish the sentence, so I spare her. "I remember what happened, Storm. It doesn't mean anything. I had been drinking too."

My words seem to impact her like a slap to the face. She flushes bright red and bites at her lip, nodding. She acts as though she can accept it, but there's misery in her eyes, a desire for something that can't be. I wish that I could tell her the truth. But the truth can sometimes hurt like a knife between the ribs, despite the good intentions that come with telling it.

"You don't mean that." Her words are soft, betrayed.

I sigh heavily and rake a hand through my hair in frustration. "What do you want from me, Storm? Alright, there's no point denying the truth. But you know what? Sometimes it's so much easier to believe a lie."

Storm blinks. I don't know what she expected, but it clearly wasn't that. She gets to her feet and downs the last of her mango juice. She places her glass on the bench and avoids making eye contact as she makes to walk out, but something tells me I can't just leave things there. There's more between us. A spark. I've acknowledged it now, and I need to act on it, even if it's just for the moment.

I grab Storm by the wrist and tug her towards me. She opens her mouth to say something, and maybe that's why I press my lips to hers. I haven't had _that_ much beer, but when we kiss it feels like fire. Her warmth burns into me and holds me captivated in a way I've never known before. I slide my arms around her waist and press her closer and this time she doesn't resist. This time, it's _working._

I lift her up and press her against the wall, my lips trailing down the tender skin of her neck. She gasps, legs wrapping instinctively around my waist. The soft sound just about drives me over the edge. I nibble lightly at Storm's neck, running one of my hands through her silky brown hair. She moans and I know that it won't end here. I can't stop. It's like I'm in flight and I have no intention of crashing and burning.

I slide my hands underneath the hem of her shirt, fingers finding the warmth of her stomach, before roving up to her chest. Storm clings to me, kissing me with a ferocity I'd only seen once: when she hit Hyperion. We don't need meaningless word, requests or permissions or I love yous. That's not how this works. Maybe it's love, but maybe it's something much more dangerous. As I lift Storm higher and carry her to the bedroom, I find myself realising that I don't care either way.

I lie her down and slide her shirt effortlessly over her head. Sure, I've been with women before. I'm twenty-two. But they've always been women who wanted to take control. But this Capitolian girl, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed, is content to let me do as I will. It suddenly strikes me that even though she has only just surpassed her teenage years, Storm is a virgin.

I look into her eyes, looking for uncertainty, looking for any sign that she doesn't want this. I don't care how much I want her, if she is reluctant, I won't do it. There's nothing but a heat blazing in those eyes and she pulls me to her and kisses me again. Her small hands run almost tentatively over my chest. They're cool, eliciting a groan from me as I work at the zip of her pants. I've come undone, and this time, she's not looking to put me back together.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I'm not sure whether he's asleep, or just has his eyes closed. I want to reach and touch that soft blond hair, but I know he's likely to slap my hand away. I think what just happened was possibly the most conflicting experience in my life. There was pleasure, there was pain, and there was Gloss. All of it made me feel fixed up. I had given him a part of me, but what did that mean for us? _Us_? Was that even the right term?

He opens his eyes and I'm a little taken aback. I'm not sure what to do. My cheeks heating up, I tug the sheet around me and set about manoeuvring into my clothes underneath the blankets. When I'm finished I try and regain my composure, fixing my hair and straightening my clothes. Gloss watches me lazily.

"So, what did you think?"

I don't know why, but talking about sex makes me uncomfortable, even if I have just done it. My cheeks burn a bright red.

"I...umm...it was pretty good."

"I wasn't talking about sex," Gloss replies with dry amusement, causing me to flush even redder, if that's even possible. "I mean, where do you think we are now? We've gone somewhere and we can't go back."

I consider his words, but I don't even know myself. I gave this man my virginity. I'm not stupid enough to think it immediately means we have to get into a proper relationship, because there's nothing normal about what Gloss and I have. I bite at my lip, watching as Gloss tugs on his pants. There's a sort of lazy arrogance about him now and I watch him warily, knowing that something has changed.

"Guess that solves the sexual tension between us."

I blink, before staring at him in disbelief. How can talk about it so dismissively? _Sexual tension_? Is that really all he thought it was? I feel the disappointment building up inside me. It's like everything we built up has come crashing down again. No matter how hard I try to fix him, to find out how he ticks, he closes me off. He's put another barrier between us. Gloss raises an eyebrow when he notices the shock on my face.

"What is it, Storm? Did you seriously think it was something more? Did you think it would be once upon a time and happily ever after? God, you're more naive than I thought."

His words cut deep like a knife. There's a mocking look about his face and I discover that I've been played for the fool. Maybe that's all Gloss wanted – to use a Capitolian like he and his sister had been used. The only problem was that I let him. I made it so easy for him. I force back the tears welling in my eyes. No, I won't cry, not over this.

"I thought there was...something." I murmur the words, because even now I realise how childish I've been. Gloss can't let anyone inside his fractured world, not an outsider. He's shown me glimpses through windows, but I am never going to walk in through the front door.

"You thought wrong." Gloss's tone is cold as he tugs a shirt over his head. "I think you should leave now, Storm."

I whirl and stalk from the room, trying to restrain everything that I feel. Maybe Gloss tried and failed to care. Maybe he never even wanted to. All I know is that Gloss Delucan certainly cannot love.

* * *

Cashmere always knows when something's wrong. That's why she comes over to my apartment with an oversized block of chocolate and a bottle of expensive wine, on the day the Quarter Quell challenge will be announced. We sit down in the lounge and break the chocolate into pieces. She watches as I swill my wine, taking slow sips of the bitter stuff. I've become accustomed to bitterness now. It's taken over what used to be a sheltered life.

"Alright, what happened with you and Gloss now?" Cashmere sighs.

There's no delaying, no trying to hold back what happened. I feel a little sick. Maybe it's too much chocolate and wine. More likely it's the fact that I feel like another Capitolian using a Victor for sexual pleasure. Only, I didn't pay Gloss. Perhaps it's me in the wrong after all. I put down my wine glass.

"We had sex." The words come out strained. I don't know what Cashmere was expecting, but I don't think it was this. Her eyebrows shoot upwards and pure astonishment is written across her face. She always guessed there was something between us, but she didn't know that things would go so far.

"He pushed you away, didn't he?" Cashmere inquires softly. She takes my hands in her own when I nod miserably. "Storm, if you feel guilty now, don't. What happened isn't your fault. You didn't do anything to make him act like this. It's just the way Gloss is, and I guess the way he always will be."

There is a true pain in Cashmere's voice and I know that I'm not the only one Gloss is pushing away. He's more open around his sister of course, but it seems there's a lot he's not sharing even with Cashmere. I break off another square of chocolate and pop it into my mouth, tasting its sweetness. Cashmere leans back in her chair and turns on the television and we sit in anxious silence, waiting for the 75th Hunger Games twist.

Once President Snow is finished with his speech about the Dark Days and the Hunger Games, he removes an envelope marked with the number 75. It's old and yellowed, an indication that the quell was written up many years ago – or was it? As a Capitolian, I have my suspicions about the 'honesty' of my own people.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary," President Snow speaks slowly and clearly, "As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

The glass falls from Cashmere's hand, wine staining the carpet red like blood. I can see the horror written over her face and I feel sick, sick to the stomach. Hyperion said he would have his revenge, and now he has. I am to be the escort who chooses which of District 1's famous Victors are going to go another round. For Cashmere and Gloss, the odds don't seem to be in their favour.


	12. Passion Colours Everything

**Chapter Twelve: Passion Colours Everything**

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**A/N: A huge thanks to my reviewers: Smizzlemort, Total Targaryen, Darth Rapture and Supachick92. Also, Forbidden Fruit has been nominated for best multi-chapter over at the Blue Awards! Okay so something happens in this chapter that may not please a lot of you...but it's essential to the plot, I swear.**

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I sit curled in a ball on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor with my knees clutched to my chest. This can't be happening. This can't be real. I'm scared and I'm shaking. I think I might throw up again. How is this possible? Well, of course, I _know_ how it's possible. I'm not stupid enough to completely dismiss human reproduction. I stare down at the positive test curled in my fingers. Pregnant. I am pregnant. My world is spinning.

It hasn't happened often. Only twice more since the first time. I didn't think that three times was enough, but I guess that proves how ignorant I am. I want to shake Gloss. I want him to tell me how he feels, to say something. But he assures me that there's nothing romantic between us, nothing at all. Cashmere says otherwise. I don't know if it's to comfort me, or if she's speaking a truth that not even Gloss will acknowledge.

How am I meant to be a mother to a child who barely even has a father? Will I even keep it? The idea of getting rid of it repulses me, but I also can't stomach the thought of what Gloss would think if I told him. I can't anyway. I'm only two months in, I still have some time to make my decision. I take a deep, calming breath. I have to be an adult about this. I'm twenty-one now, definitely not a child. It's my own fault that I'm pregnant, so I have to deal with it now. My own little secret. I almost laugh at that.

The reaping for the Quell is only days away now. Cashmere and Gloss have been training hard, even though there's every chance that they won't be going back into the Games. I try and calm myself with that knowledge, but it's useless. There's a storm raging within me and there's nothing to stop it. I remember Hyperion's veiled threats. He's going to do something, I just know it. He can't hurt me, not without arousing suspicion, but the Victors from 1 are another story completely.

I am the escort for District 1. No matter whose names I pull from those bowls, the blame will rest squarely on my shoulders. I want to scream out; I want to tell them all that it's not my fault, that _someone _has to be picked. But then I remember Gloss's hatred of everything Capitolian. Does that hatred sweep through all of District 1, a simmering resentment they disguise? Will Gloss's hatred extend to the baby growing inside me, a child that's just as much his as it is mine?

I can't possibly tell him. He would look at me with disgust, assure me that I could have done something to prevent it. It's possible I could have. But I was an innocent. I didn't know anything about sex until he taught me. I'm not blaming him. I don't blame anyone. All I know is that my pregnancy would distance us even more if he knew. I've come so close now and I don't want to give that up.

I push myself to my feet, ignoring how my knees shake. I dump the pregnancy test in the bin, after swathing it in toilet paper first. I don't need anyone else to see my shame. It's enough that I know. I wash my hands and rake my hair back, staring at my reflection. She isn't a confident, proud Capitolian escort. She is a scared little girl, definitely not ready to be a mother. Will I, or won't I?

* * *

It's the night before the reaping, and everyone is dreading tomorrow. Cashmere offers me wine but I silently refuse. She raises her eyebrows and I profess a headache. Gloss is sprawled across the opposite couch, indifferent. I glance at him and can't help but wonder what sort of father he would be. I can't imagine he would make a very good one. Cashmere sits beside me, a concerned expression on her face as she swills her glass.

"What's the matter?" she demands. Sometimes, Cashmere is far too perceptive for her own good.

"Just tomorrow," I murmur, which isn't exactly a lie. "I have to draw the names out, Cash. It's me they're going to look at with accusation. I'm the Capitol's messenger according to them. The messenger always gets shot."

"No, I don't think it's that." Cashmere shakes her head, her brow furrowing as she examines me carefully. "You know that's not your fault, so why would you be worried about that? It's something else, isn't it? You can tell me, Storm."

I glance across at Gloss. "I really can't."

Cashmere doesn't miss this. She glances from me, to Gloss, then back again. She sets down her glass and it clinks on the table. She hauls me to my feet and practically marches me out of the lounge, closing the door behind us. There's true worry in her blue eyes and I realise, to my shock, that Cashmere actually cares. I have finally found a real friend, not just someone who wants to gain something from me.

"Has Gloss done something?" Cashmere demands, her eyes flashing, "He's an idiot...I'll kill him, I swear..."

"No," I protest, before I immediately lower my voice. I don't want Gloss hearing. No matter what, he can't know. "It's not like that. It's...I'm pregnant."

Cashmere is speechless. She looks at my face, into my eyes in case she thinks I might be lying. Her eyes drift automatically to my stomach, which of course has shown no change considering I am only two months in. She raises a hand and puts it over her mouth. I realise that this makes her an aunt. I wonder how _she_ feels about all of this. Does she hold me to account, as her brother no doubt would? I'm angry at him, at myself, at everything.

"What?" Her voice is a soft, tentative whisper. I burst into tears and sob into my hands, because I don't know what I want. I wanted to make Gloss whole. I didn't want this. It makes me feel as though I'm part of something, part of him, and I'm not. I never have been and I never will be.

"Does he know?" Cashmere wraps her arms around me and holds her close. She could almost be my sister. She does this all too well, accepting people. But I know there is a lack of mercy in her heart. For those who have hurt her and her brother, she may show charm and she may be polite, but the vengeance will always burn within her. I haven't wronged her, so there is nothing for her to forgive. "Are...are you going to keep it?"

"I...I don't know," I stammer, wiping at my eyes. I feel pathetic. It's just a baby. Most women will end up having babies in their lifetime. I think the real problem is that those women are married, with husbands that care about them, that care about their children. Children whose fathers aren't Gloss. "I'm not sure that I could raise it by myself. I don't think I would know how. What...what would the other Capitolians think of me?"

It's a shallow, stupid question and I immediately wish I hadn't said that. I shouldn't care what the Capitolians think of me, of my baby. If I want to keep the child, the decision shouldn't be based on the judgment I may face from other people, but on what I want. Do I want a child that might be painfully identical to its father?

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

I wake up hot in a cold sweat. My sheets are tangled around my body and it takes me a moment to discover that it was only a nightmare. A nightmare that it was my name that was called, me who went back into the arena. It's not death that I fear, because everyone dies someday. It's that I've been building these walls, a cage for the animal lurking inside me. If they put me back in the games, the animal will be unleashed once more – and the death and the violence and the blood will colour my world.

"Gloss?" It's Storm that stands in the doorway. She's stayed the night, for Cashmere rather than me. I switch on the lamp and I take her in, wide eyes and mousy brown hair mussed up from sleep. She looks so painfully young, so unaware of what tomorrow holds – although in reality, she knows too well. Storm's not an idiot anymore. She knows that she holds power in her hands when she reaches into those bowls, a power that she doesn't want to wield. The power of life and death.

"It was just a nightmare," I tell her dismissively, "Go back to bed."

Storm doesn't listen. Instead she crosses over and sits on the edge of my bed. She understands me better now than she ever did, so I don't push her away. Yet in truth, she is a Capitolian. She will never understand the pain and suffering of Victors, of watching my sister, of remembering every single tribute that I killed. I'm not resentful because of it anymore. In truth, I'm grateful now, that she doesn't have to hurt the way that I do. That she doesn't have to keep any semblance of feelings locked away inside her, because feelings hurt, too.

"What was it about?" she asks. Once I would have told her to leave. I would have laid my soul out in front of her and then told her to forget all about it. But I trust Storm more than that now. She isn't a liar like the rest of them. Both of them, the human and the monster, fight within me for control.

"The Quell." I take a deep breath and rake a hand through my slick hair. "I was picked."

"Oh." Storm bites her lip. The girl even holds herself responsible for my nightmares. I want to snap at her, tell her to stop blaming herself. She can't change whatever happens tomorrow. Whoever is reaped, they need to face the consequences. For what they've done. For thinking they could live their life undisturbed as a killer. Even if it's me. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes," I reply honestly. I'd be a fool not to be. "Everyone is. But they're afraid to die. I'm afraid of the savage. You've seen him. I don't want him to get out ever again. I locked him away for a reason."

"Don't let them change you." Storm whispers, trailing her fingers down my cheek. It's a gesture that's too gentle. It's easier to fall that way. It's harder when you pretend it's just lust. I catch her hand and draw it away from my face.

"They already have. It's too late."

She shakes her head. "It's never too late."

Then Storm kisses me, not hard and full of passion, but softly. I want to push her away, but there's sorrow there, and I can't help but kiss back despite myself. I can feel her hot, wet tears sliding down her face, down mine. I tug her into my lap and run my fingers through her hair, a more gentle gesture than I knew I was capable of. I can feel her frame shaking with sobs and after a few more moments, she draws back.

"You're scared too," I point out.

"I've always been scared," she replies, wiping at her eyes, "But before now, never for you."

* * *

There are quite a few Victors from District 1, but Cashmere and I are the youngest. I glance across at where she stands in a roped-off area along with the other female Victors. She offers me a brave smile, but I can tell without even having to see her eyes that she's afraid. We all are, even if none of us will admit it. We're Careers. We're back to square one, holding up our chins boldly and pretending that we're ruthless. But we have hearts, too. Even if no one remembers that.

Storm tries to smile, but I can see that she's nervous. Everyone watches her in silence, and she fumbles about in the glass bowl with the female Victors' names in it. After a moment, she picks up a piece of paper with shaky hands. When she reads the name into the microphone, her voice is all too clear.

"Cashmere Delucan."

I'm falling, falling hard. My sister. She's pulled out my sister's name. Cashmere straightens her shoulders and draws herself up to full height. She looks powerful and confident as she approaches the stage. She tosses back her blonde hair and a proud smile adorns her features as she stands beside Storm. Proud...proud to represent District 1 once more. Oh, how good Cashmere is at lying.

Then Storm is reaching into the male Victors' bowl and I find myself catching my breath. Somehow, I already know what she's going to say. Somehow, I know that my nightmare is all too real. Storm shows no sign of weakness as she draws the piece of paper out of the bowl and reads out the name – my name.

"Gloss Delucan."

I march confidently up the stage, echoing my sister's proud stature. I stand beside her, tall and imposing. I don't want our district to be proud of us. I want them to remember us. I immediately know that it's Cashmere I want to survive. She was always the mentally stronger of the two of us. If she dies and I win, my insanity will rise to levels I can't even begin to imagine. Cashmere could cope. She has to.

I can see Storm filtering through the other names in the bowl, her expression growing more and more horrified. I know the truth without having to speak to her. The names on the papers are all mine and Cashmere's. There wasn't a chance we wouldn't be reaped. Hyperion Dormer has had his revenge.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

We sit in solemn silence and I can't help but feel the guilt inside me. This is because of me. If I hadn't defied Hyperion, none of this would ever have happened. Now Cashmere and Gloss, or at least one of them, are destined to die for my mistakes. I can tell that neither of them holds me responsible. I wish I could have bid them farewell for now, until I returned to District 1, while I whisked two other Victors off to their deaths. Now I have to watch these people, who I have grown to know and care about, die.

We watch the recap of the reapings. Gloss seems somewhat pleased to discover that Finnick is going back into the Games. Well, there is definitely enmity there. I find myself throwing up in the toilet, and I can't decide whether it's because of my pregnancy or because of the fact that I feel sick to the stomach about what's happening. I can see Hyperion's smug smirk whenever I close my eyes.

"You seem to be throwing up a lot lately." Gloss is waiting out in the dining carriage when I step out of the bathroom. He's sipping something colourful and probably alcoholic. By the looks of the three empty glasses on the table, it isn't his first drink. Cashmere is nowhere in sight. I worry for her.

"Nerves, I suppose," I murmur, sitting across from him. It's not entirely a lie. I have been on edge ever since I found out the Quarter Quell challenge two months past. Then this morning, knowing that I would be pulling out the names...knowing that the fate of the Victors from District 1 rested in my hands...

Only, that wasn't the truth. The Capitol had conjured another lie, an illusion. Perhaps Hyperion had meant for Cashmere and Gloss to hate me because I had supposedly drawn out their names, of all people. Only, they didn't. Cashmere had already openly stated she believed the Quell was rigged because of what Katniss and Peeta had done, and that it wouldn't surprise her if the reapings were rigged as well. Even Gloss, who is so hateful towards anything Capitolian, doesn't blame me for his name being drawn.

"Do you plan to win?" I ask, my voice little more than a whisper as though the answer is some kind of deadly secret.

Gloss shakes his head fervently. "No. I don't deserve to. It's Cashmere who's going to win. I'll make sure of it."

I believe him with all my heart, before my heart breaks. Gloss's determination to see his sister win is something I can understand, but at the same time I selfishly wish it wasn't so, that somehow they could both get out of the arena alive, like the pair from District 12 just last year. I know it won't be like that, though. Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place, and this year won't be last year.

I decide then that I am going to keep this baby, the hidden shame that no one yet knows about. One or both of the Victors from District 1 are going to die in the Quell. It might do me well to have something to remember them by. The closer we get to the Capitol, the stronger my resolve becomes.


	13. Paradise Lost

**Chapter Thirteen: Paradise Lost**

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**Wow! A huge thanks to my reviewers: CO COSH, our little infinity, Darth Rapture, Bloodredfirefly, SafeEyesOpen, Drizzlemist, Smizzlemort, Total Targaryen and especially to Wendy Brune for the constructive criticism!**

**...how many of you would kill me if this went a tad AU?**

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**Storm's POV**

I can't explain how much it scared me that Hyperion Dormer had become the escort for District 2, that he had become that close. No doubt he had managed to pull a few strings – Hyperion had always been favoured by President Snow. Still, the notion scares me, although it only first strikes me, like a bullet to the brain, when we are waiting for the elevator after the chariots. Gloss and Cashmere are both wearing sparkly-bright, gem-studded costumes. It's the first time I've seen them since we hopped off the train and they were whisked away by eager prep teams.

Hyperion struts over accompanied by the pair from District 2, Brutus and Enobaria. I remember Enobaria as the girl who ripped out a tribute's throat with her teeth. I remember Brutus was ruthless. Other than that, I can't place details. Both are wearing costumes that look like they're made of rock, which match the stone-cold expressions on their faces. They are older than Cashmere and Gloss. Brutus is at least forty and Enobaria around thirty. I try not to freeze up when I see Hyperion. He offers me a mocking smile and inclines his head.

"Storm. You're looking radiant. Of course, not quite as radiant as District 12. You did see their little show, no doubt?"

I did. Cinna never fails to impress. I can't help but swell with pride for him, although I should be more concerned about District 12 upstaging Cashmere and Gloss. I glance at the Victors and note the cool, polite exchange between them. Doubtless they've met before, but that would have been as allies, as mentors with a common cause. Now, they are deadliest enemies, whether by their will or not.

"The Delucan siblings dazzled," I inform Hyperion coldly. It's difficult to try and maintain a casual composure around him. All I want to do is throw myself at him and claw at him, beat him like I'm a wild animal. I remember, with a sour taste in my mouth, that the last time I saw Hyperion in person was when he attempted to have his way with me at Lexus Kyden's dinner. That knowledge, too, makes it hard to exchange pleasantries.

Hyperion laughs. "My, so _maternal._ It almost seems like you've taken dear Cashmere and Gloss in as your own. You certainly do care for them."

I don't like the way Hyperion emphasises the word 'maternal'. I don't like it at all. There's a gleam in his eyes and my palms have suddenly become clammy. No, it isn't possible. The only person I told about my condition was Cashmere, and she would be the last person to tell Hyperion. The only logical explanation is that someone has been spying on me, someone who could have informed Hyperion. How much does he know? Is he aware that Gloss is the father?

I step into the lift and take a deep, calming breath. Cashmere flashes me a concerned look, and I know that she too understood the implications. Gloss remains as oblivious as ever. He is living in a world that nothing can penetrate, that very few are allowed inside. I delve in and out, not knowing if I'll ever be allowed permanent sanctuary there. Enobaria and Cashmere immediately engage in a passionate debate about the latest Capitolian styles, but I know that everything about it is empty. Neither woman truly cares anything for fashion, not when one or both of them will die within the next few weeks.

"This is your stop." Hyperion's fingers brush my arm and I recoil, flinching away from his touch. Gloss notices my reaction and his eyes become hard, although his expression doesn't otherwise change as he coolly observes Hyperion. I can see the smothered laughter in the Capitolian man's eyes – _Capitolian. _I am not them. I am not from the districts. I am me. I need no label. Gloss and Cashmere exit but I force a smile and shake my head. An impulsive decision enters my mind and I press the 12 button.

"I think I will go and pay a visit to my good friend Cinna."

Hyperion clenches his jaw ever so slightly, but says nothing. Cashmere offers me a questioning look that I can't respond to, not here. She can interrogate me later, but I can give nothing away in front of Hyperion. He exits swiftly along with Brutus and Enobaria and I continue the journey to level 12 in solemn silence. My mind is racing. Does Cinna know the truth? Could he know how Hyperion managed to find out?

I step out of elevator and immediately notice that the Victors from 12, along with their mentor Haymitch Abernathy, escort Effie Trinket and two stylists, have all sat down for dinner. I feel that I am invading and a heat creeps up into my cheeks. Cinna gets to his feet, because he knows that I am here to see him. I attempt to stammer an apology, but Cinna just takes my arm and leads me through to the lounge.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner," I blurt, knowing that I am still tomato red, "I just wanted to talk to you, but it can wait."

"I'm done with my food anyway," Cinna says in that quiet, soothing voice of his. Just Cinna speaking is enough to calm me down. He seems to have a way about him, a soothing presence. He places a hand on my arm. "What's wrong?"

"Have you heard any...rumours?" I'm tentative to talk about it now. If Cinna doesn't know, he might expect me to tell him. I don't like keeping secrets from Cinna, but this is the kind of secret I have kept from everyone but Cashmere. It's also the kind of secret that I intend to keep physically, for I don't think I could bear to part with the baby growing within me now. "About me."

"I can't say that I have." Cinna's brow creases in concern. "Why? Storm, tell me, what's wrong?"

"Just something Hyperion said," I murmur, feeling stupid. Perhaps he intended me to come running to Cinna. Why? I couldn't have said. Hyperion's mind works in ways that I don't understand. What I do know is that all of us – Cashmere, Gloss, me, my child – are in danger. It's frightening, because I don't know how, and for that reason I can't stop it. For how do you fight something you can't see?

Cinna leans forward. "There is something you should know about, Storm. There is...there is a plot."

_Plot._ The very word sounds sinister. It sounds like it is going against everything the Capitol has intended for us to go. Cinna's job is to make tributes shine through their outfits alone. Mine is to groom them in manners and etiquette, to ensure that they are on time, to assist with sponsors. Both of us play a major role in the Games, whether we like it or not. So what kind of plot could possibly be in place that Cinna would allow himself to get involved in?

"What kind of plot?" I whisper. Even talking about this sort of thing could have us dragged off and turned into Avoxes. A shiver runs down my spine. It's a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone, yet it's far too common for people of the districts who fail in their duties. A staggering number of Avoxes were formerly Peacekeepers.

"There has been rebellion rising since Katniss's action during the 74th Games," Cinna informs me, and I know exactly what he's talking about. I remember the moment when Katniss suggested she and Peeta take the poisonous berries – nightlock, I think – so that the Capitol could have no winner. It was daring, it resulted in two Victors...and it made President Snow exceedingly angry. Seneca Crane had been executed because of it.

"What about it?" I inquire, trying to keep my tone level. What is Cinna _doing_? Neither of us are old enough to remember the Dark Days – in fact, there would only be a scarce few, if any, who do – but we see the consequences of it even now. What is the point in attempting to rise up against the Capitol, only to be beaten down?

"There are a small group of Victors and mentors who are planning to get both Peeta and Katniss out of the arena and into District 13. Plutarch Heavensbee is a part of this plot."

_District 13?_ But...it's impossible. District 13 has been gone for nearly eighty years...or has it? There is much I don't know, that I am not of a high enough rank to be informed of. How does Cinna know all of this? I swallow and lick my lips, because I don't care at all for Katniss and Peeta. It's the Victors from 1 that I want to survive, Cashmere and Gloss. Cinna reaches across and puts a hand over mine.

"Tell Cashmere and Gloss about the plan. They can help. There's also a chance that – if this succeeds – they might be able to escape the arena as well."

Hope such as I have never known before flares through me. Maybe Gloss and Cashmere will survive after all! Perhaps all will be well. It seems a fool's dream, but I nod vehemently. This is my last chance. It might fail, I might get hurt for it...but it's a risk I'm willing to take to save the people who, before last year, I wouldn't have cared about at all.

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

"Are you completely out of your mind?" I snap. I'm pacing now, back and forth across the lounge room. I don't care about how Storm heard of this absurd rebellion plot, she has to get the thought of her head right now. The districts have tried to rebel before, and it didn't go so well for them. Of course, it's not like Storm would care. She's from the Capitol. Their kind are always sitting pretty...yet I know that if Storm gets involved in this, she will be in even more danger than the rest of us. President Snow would never forgive one of his own betraying him.

"It's a wise idea," Storm protests, folding her arms across her chest. She's changed a lot from the shrinking violet I met the year before, the girl who held her tongue and knew her place. She is more opinionated now, more defiant. I wonder, with a sliver of pride, whether I'm the one who has encouraged such change in her. "Gloss. Look. You can die in the arena following the Capitol's rule, or you can defy them and risk dying showing some actual courage."

I snarl and turn on her. Is she calling me a coward? Storm stands her ground, however her arms have shifted to wrap almost protectively around her stomach. Or perhaps she's just feeling sick again. She's been throwing up a lot lately. She says it's because she's nervous about the upcoming Games. I'm not sure whether I believe that anymore.

"Don't you understand?" I shoot at her, clenching my hands into fists. "If Snow finds out what we're doing, if we fail, we won't be killed during the Games. We will _wish_ we'd died. The things that happen to people in the Capitol, rebels...I've heard about them before. I have no desire to die pleading for mercy like that, Storm."

Cashmere sits in silence, and I can tell she's undecided on her stance. She voiced enthusiasm about the crazy rebellion idea Storm brought to us, but also expressed doubts about carrying it out. It's like walking a tightrope – you trip, and there is nothing to stop you from falling. However, since I disagree so strongly with the idea, Cashmere has kept her thoughts to herself. My sister does not want to take sides.

"Why won't you just give it a try?" Storm sounds almost desperate and I realise then that she wants me to live, is determined that there must be a way for Cashmere and I both to survive. It's almost childishly sweet. Doesn't she understand that the whole point of the Hunger Games is that there can only be one winner?

"No." My voice is flat and my word is final. I am going to stick to the traditional Career pack and hopefully get Cashmere to win through that. I won't risk both our lives in some stupid plot that will probably turn out like the Dark Days. I push myself my feet, indicating the discussion is at a close, and stalk into my room. Storm follows me. She's bloody persistent. Annoying, but persistent.

"I don't want you to die," she says, her arms wrapped around her stomach once more. There's something pleading in her hazel eyes and there are tears welling there. I can tell that this hurts her just as much as it hurts Cashmere and I. "Why can't you understand that?"

"I do understand," I reply curtly. She sighs heavily and turns to walk out, but suddenly, I'm a child in the dark without a nightlight. I don't want to be left alone. I catch her wrist and she turns, her eyes round as she observes me, her eyes seeing right through me. Storm knows me now, she knows me almost as well as Cashmere. "Stay."

The hint of a smile, the ghost of a happiness long past, ignites in her eyes. She is the flame and I am the moth being drawn ever close, despite my own reservations. I lie down on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. Storm curls up beside me, resting close. She's warm against me, her skin soft. She feels comfortable, but I can't be content. I'm restless knowing what's to come. I don't want to lose everything, not again.

Storm doesn't take long to fall asleep, but I remain awake long into the night. I'm always sleepless in the Capitol, for the nightmares in my head are all too real. I don't need to fall asleep to see the bruises on Cashmere's skin or the hope slowly dying in Storm's eyes. All of that is painful enough, because it's real. I want to win for Storm, but at the same time, I know that seeing Cashmere die will drive me insane. My sister is the one person who truly understands me, the only other aside from Storm who accepts me for my madness. I can't let her go. I cling to her like she is a lifejacket holding me above the surface.

Storm shifts, her hair brushing across my cheek. I glance down at her and refrain from moving. She looks so young and innocent, so at peace. At least one of us doesn't have nightmares full of the horrors of the past. Whether my eyes are open or closed, it all flashes through my mind...and I just want to forget. More than anything, I wish I could erase the terrifying memories from my head.

Forever.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I watch Cashmere and Gloss training from the viewing studio and I have to admire how skilled they are. Never before have I seen this side of them. Cashmere's talent with knives is like nothing I have ever seen, and I marvel at watching Gloss heft up a spear and hurl it perfectly through the target. I haven't seen this ferocity, this skill with weapons. It makes me think just how easy it would be for them to kill me, if they felt the inclination. I lean back in my chair as Gloss hefts the spear from the dummy's chest.

"He's strong." Hyperion is sitting a little across from me, his gaze focused intently on Gloss. He is meant to be watching Brutus and Enobaria – who I have noted are just are talented as my own Victors. "I wonder if his little bastard will be the same."

I freeze up in my seat. If ever I expected Hyperion to acknowledge that he knows I'm pregnant, I would have thought he would have done it subtly. But this is blatant, it's a crude indicator that he knows the truth. I clutch at the arms of my chair with clammy palms, wondering what I should do. Should I wave it off and attempt to deny it, or be honest about it? I'm spared from having to make the decision as Hyperion smiles mockingly.

"Oh, come on, Storm. You think that Cashmere is the only one who knows that you're pregnant? I have spies everywhere, especially in District 1."

He knows. Of _course_ he knows. I begin to find myself panicking, for I wonder what other whispers have reached Hyperion's keen ears. Whispers of rebellion? No, I don't even dare to think about it. If Hyperion knew the truth, he would have run to President Snow and anyone with the word 'rebellion' on their lips would have been arrested by now. I remain silent, my lips pressing together as I fix my gaze upon the screen, watching as Gloss twirls the spear in his hand. Will Hyperion tell him the truth? Does he suspect that the child's father doesn't even know of its existence?

"What do you want?" I ask coldly. I know that Hyperion wouldn't have brought the matter up unless it served his own purposes. He's trying to use the fact that Gloss is the child's father as some kind of blackmail. He loves doing this, keeping me in the dark, making me probe around for the door to get out.

"I want Gloss and Cashmere to ally with Brutus and Enobaria." Hyperion gestures towards the screen. "The traditional Career pack. It seems that Finnick and that old bag from 4 are looking at joining with District 12. The Delucan siblings would be advised not to do the same. After all, how would President Snow react to finding out that you carry a Victor's child?"

I tense. I'm not sure I want to know how Snow would feel, or what he would do. I can guess that it wouldn't be pleasant. It doesn't seem that Gloss and Cashmere will need encouragement, though – they are approached by the pair from District 2 and end up talking and shaking hands. I suppress the smile of relief, a relief that seeps through my body and seems to make me weak with joy. I am safe, for now. But Hyperion knows, and when Hyperion knows something about someone he will never let it go, ever. I might be safe, but my child never will be.


	14. Love Me Not

**Chapter Fourteen: Love Me Not**

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**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers: our little infinity, SafeEyesOpen, Total Targaryen, Darth Rapture, Bloodredfirefly and 007secretservice. **

**And yes, of this chapter, things are going AU. Beetee is going to rig up and blow the force field earlier than in the book. I know, the time in the arena is very brief, but that's not what I ever intended to focus on. Someone very important is going to die in this chapter, and things are only going to get worse from here. Although it may be different to how the books went, I'm not promising things are going to go happily.**

**I am not going to pretend – next chapter is going to be very dark. I've had this planned almost since the beginning and it's going to be...difficult. Not sure yet whether it's bad enough that the rating will have to go up to M, but I guess I'll just have to see.**

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**Storm's POV**

Involving Hyperion in the rebellion is not an option. He will go running to President Snow, tell him everything – and then we will all be worse than dead. It's hard to keep such things from him, especially as several others, including the District 4 escort, are aware of what is going on. Cinna says that under no circumstances am I even to attempt to involve him. Not that I would – the baby within me kicks in protest, kicks to mark the fact that I am now around three months in. Can there still be any going back?

I wake on the morning of the Games. The throwing up has stopped, to my immense relief. I was so scared that Gloss would begin to question me about it, and no matter how much I throw up my walls of lies to keep the truth safe, he would break those walls down eventually. This morning, the stylists will take Cashmere and Gloss and then their only existence in this world will be on the screen of a television. It will all seem so surreal. At least one of them, I will never see again. I feel a wave of nausea that has nothing to do with morning sickness.

So I decide that today, I stop playing games. I stop pretending that I don't feel this, that there isn't anything between Gloss and I. I will admit the truth even as it tears me apart. Not about the child – it might break Gloss to know that, or perhaps he won't care. Nonetheless, for some reason I am oddly protective of the child's existence, as though telling Gloss will somehow have repercussions.

"Gloss?" I approach him tentatively. He's dressed simply, for he won't be in his arena clothes until he reaches the Launch Room. It's easier to see him as another human being this way, as though we are just two people in the world and it doesn't matter that one of us is a Victor and one of us is a Capitolian. I embrace him. He is like steel, cold and unyielding, but that doesn't stop me from trying.

"You shouldn't be so affectionate." He is trying to scold me, but his voice hitches slightly and for the first time in many years, perhaps Gloss _feels_ something. I offer him a thin smile and try not to cry myself. People aren't meant to know about us. I can't afford to get all emotional now.

"Storm." Cashmere is considerably warmer. I hug her tight and I don't want to let her go. She has always been the balance, the only thing keeping Gloss from tearing into me with his verbal barbs and his hand across my face when the animal escapes from its cage. She is perhaps my one true friend, and now I risk losing her. If I could pick between she and Gloss...it hurts, but I would pick her.

"I'm not worried," I lie, "You two are Careers. You stand a fighting chance in that arena. One of you is bound to win."

Cashmere notices that my gaze lingers on Gloss. How can she not? Cashmere notices everything. She offers me a meaningful glance and murmurs some excuse, sauntering back to her room. Perhaps she thinks that I'll tell Gloss about the baby. Guilt squirms inside me, for I have no intention of doing that.

"There's something I have to say." The words are bold, much braver than I feel. I lift my chin up and I can tell by the resignation in Gloss's blue eyes that he already knows what I'm about to say, and that no matter how hard he tries, he can't stop me. "Gloss...I...I love you."

He watches me with impassive eyes for what feels like forever. I want him to say something, anything. I don't care so long as he actually acknowledges what I've just told him. Instead he just inclines his head, as if I've wished him luck or told him the weather's going to be sunny today. Desperation claws through me. The baby kicks. A baby that will more likely than not never know its father.

"Gloss, it's time." Cashmere walks back out and her expression is grim, but to me she has never looked more beautiful. She knows what lies in store for them. She has accepted her fate gracefully, as I feel I never could were I a tribute.

"Goodbye, Storm." That is his reply to my confession, his parting words. He and Cashmere are led out by the stylists and I swallow the hard lump in my throat, staggering into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. I draw my knees to my chest and raw sobs force their way free. I cry until my throat is dry, my head aches and my eyes are puffy. I admitted that I loved him, and he understood. The only problem is that Gloss doesn't love me back.

* * *

I sit on the bed with a pillow held to my chest, as though it's some kind of protection from what I'm about to witness. I have to know. I need to see what happens, as much as it hurts. I force myself to remain calm, for my child. Gloss's child, though he will never know it. I rake a hand through my unruly hair, and I watch, and I wait. The words make me flinch as Claudius Templesmith booms them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 75th Hunger Games begin!"

It seems to take forever for the gong to go off. When it does, the tributes dive into the water they're surrounded by, swimming towards the Cornucopia on a small island in the middle there. Finnick Odair from 4, unsurprisingly, is the first to reach the Cornucopia. He takes up his traditional trident, and a shiver runs down my spine. I can't imagine how Gloss's spear will contend with that.

The girl from 12 has picked up a bow and is talking with Finnick. She shoots arrows at the Careers from 1 and 2 as they clamber out of the water. Enobaria from 2 is quick enough to dive back in before she gets hit, but I press my hands over my mouth to stifle a scream as one of Katniss's arrows finds its mark in Gloss's calf. Pain flashes across his face, mixed with anger, as he rolls back into the water in a sullen retreat.

Panic immediately flares through me. This gives Gloss a disadvantage due to his injury. As Finnick and the pair from 12, along with an old woman who I think is Finnick's district partner, the Careers move in for the kill. Gloss grits his teeth and rips the arrow from his calf, something that makes me flinch. He hefts up a spear as Cashmere twirls a pair of knives in her hands. They're joined by Brutus and Enobaria and although they appear to be at ease, there's no mistaking the tension evident in Gloss's shoulder or Cashmere's stance. There is no trust here at all.

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

Finnick's alliance is doing annoyingly well. Both from 12 are still alive, those little brats who seem to be the new thing in Panem just because the girl is apparently knocked up. I don't like it one bit, especially now that they have District 3 and Johanna from 7 on their side. I pace up and down the beach as the others watch. Cashmere sharpens her knives, watching me intently. Brutus leans with his back flat against a tree, his fingers always tight around the hilt of his sword.

"I say that we attack them." The comment comes from Enobaria, which is astonishing as it's pretty much exactly what I was thinking. Their alliance is bigger than ours, which is cause for concern. The Careers are meant to be the main power in these Games, but of course bloody Odair had to go and join forces with those _teenagers._ My lip curls in disgust.

"I agree." Cashmere gets to her feet. "We have to be quiet about it, though. They outnumber us. I say ambush them, maybe kill one or two in silence before the others actually realise what's going on."

Brutus offers a non-committal grunt and pushes himself to his feet. I don't know if that guy would even know how to be stealthy if his life depended on it – which, funny thing, it does. I smirk and glance at Cashmere, who spins one of her knives. We know they're not stupid enough to light a fire, but no doubt they'll be talking. Cashmere prowls around in the lead, for I know that she's a good listener. All I can really hear is my heart hammering in my chest.

We find them. The man from 3 whose name escapes me is setting something up, rigging wire up to a tree for reasons I don't know. I watch, intrigued. Lightning is flashing overhead and just as a semblance of understanding courses through me, Cashmere grabs me by the arm and tugs me along. Brutus seems keen to kill, for he nudges past us with his sword in his hand and closes in on the woman from 3, Wiress I think. I hiss in anger and attempt to lunge at him for stealing what should be my kill – but Cashmere tugs me back as Brutus slits Wiress's throat.

That's when the girl from District 12 whirls around and fires an arrow, hitting Brutus in the temple. He crashes to the ground and all of them are up then. The boy from District 12 takes off into the trees, either running to save his own hide or going to warn the man from 3 who we passed without killing. Enobaria steps forward, only to have an axe embedded in her chest from Johanna. Cashmere staggers, drawing her knives.

"KATNISS! NOW!"

The girl from 12 turns and runs, following the cry of her district partner. She strings an arrow and I hurtle after her, despite Cashmere yelling my name. Murder is racing through my heart and I grip my spear tightly. Only she's too fast, faster than me. I can hear her footsteps though, and that's enough to draw me through the trees towards her.

When I burst out, I see she's picked up a knife in blood-slick hands – but it isn't aimed at me. She hurls it towards the edge of the arena as I watch in bewilderment...and it seems to disappear. I'm confused, before lightning strikes the tree that the man from 3 had hooked the wire up. It sizzles down the wire and I have to cover my eyes from the blinding, dazzling blue as I see as something – whatever encases the arena – explodes.

"What have you done?" I demand of the girl from 12. She lowers her bow and another brightness comes over us, causing me to wince and shield my eyes. I look up to see a Capitol hovercraft and whatever Katniss from 12 has done, it will have consequences for all of us. This rebellion that Storm talked about, that I didn't want anything to do with...it seems like I'm a part of it anyway.

"PEETA!" Katniss turns attention from me and immediately goes searching for lover boy. It's suddenly become panic in the arena and I find myself looking wildly around for Cashmere. I stagger back the way I came, only to nearly collide with my older sister, whose eyes are narrowed.

"What were you thinking, Gloss? She could have shot you down! You saw what she did to Brutus..."

"We have bigger things to worry about right now!" I retaliate.

Cashmere's gaze drifts beyond me and suddenly her eyes widen with horror. Before I can question it, she grabs me and shoves me off to the side. I reel and when I whirl back, Cashmere is stumbling back, swaying on her feet, blood running between her fingers when she presses a hand to her chest. I roar in rage and heft my spear towards the Peacekeeper who has exited the hovercraft and levelled his gun with my sister. It impales him and I want to feel savage glee as he falls to the ground. But I don't.

"CASH!"

I run to her but there's no fear in her eyes. No pain. As always she is my brave older sister and there is nothing but determination as I catch her before she can hit the ground. She smiles fiercely at me although tears are streaming down her cheeks. They're not for herself. They're for me. Everything has always been for me. She has always been so selfless, even now, even sacrificing herself to save my life. Why? Why would she do that? I don't deserve it. I have always been the monster, she the only thing keeping me sane.

"Please don't leave me alone," I beg. I'm the scared child in the darkness. I need a nightlight and there she is. But the light's flickering and it's going to go out. I'll be forever in darkness, searching for the door, trying to find a way out. I clutch at Cashmere, lowering her gently even as the blood spreads from her wound like a disease. I hold her tight because I don't ever want to let go. I was meant to save her, not the other way around. _Cashmere_ was meant to live.

"I'm sorry, Gloss," Cashmere's voice is soft and she is fading fast, "But there's someone else you have to live for now. You've been so blind...and now you have to see it. Storm..."

"No." I shake my head. "No, I can't."

"You _can_." Even in her dying moments, my sister is strong. I can see it all, everything – her blowing out ten candles on her birthday cake, the fierce light in her eyes when volunteered, her hand cracking across my face when I did the same a year later, her holding me tight as I screamed my way through my nightmares. No, this couldn't be the end. I had to do something. "Gloss. She loves you. She loves you nearly as much as I do."

"Nearly isn't enough." My voice breaks and Cashmere uses the last of her strength to plant a kiss on my forehead.

"It has to be."

I clutch her hand so hard I'm afraid I might break her bones, but then her grip slackens and her eyes glass over. I howl like an animal in pain, choked sobs ripping their way free of my throat as I continue to hold her lifeless body to me. Her eyes stare at the heavens she can't see and it's not fair. It has never been fair. All her life, Cashmere has been there to protect me, even though I'm the one fucking things up in the first place. Now she has given up what meant more to my than my life: her own.

I fall to my knees and scream for the end.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

I hurl things at the walls and scream until I think my lungs will burst. It can't be healthy for the child, but somehow, I'm beyond caring. Cashmere is dead. I watched it happen on television, and it seems so very _wrong._ It takes four Peacekeepers to control a feral Gloss as they drag him into the hovercraft, him along with Johanna from 7 and Peeta from 12. The rebellion that Cinna promised has succeeded – but those left behind will suffer for it. I bury my face in my blankets and cry, even though it hurts.

A knock on the door rouses me from my hysteria. I look up and the door open. Hyperion marches in with two Peacekeepers tailing him. The expression on his face is unreadable, but his eyes glitter and tell me he is very pleased with the turn of events. He is pleased, because Cashmere's death has hurt Gloss and I in a way that torture never could. I pick myself up off the bed and lunge at him, fists flailing.

"_You son of a bitch!_"

"Now, Miss Asterbury, calm down." He easily catches me wrists and shoves me away as though I disgust him. The Peacekeepers take each of my arms and this time I don't try to struggle. I'm only going to hurt the baby and now, the child is possibly the only thing that I have left. I don't want to know what happened, or is happening, to Gloss. "You are under arrest for suspected treason against the Capitol. You are to be taken into custody..."

I shake my head mutely. They think I am part of the rebellion, when I only knew of its against. I guess for Hyperion, that's enough. I don't try and resist. He has taken from me all that he can, but he won't take the baby I carry, for it's safe with me. So long as I behave and evade harm at all costs, at least I have that comfort, small as it is. But where Cashmere was once, there is forever a hole in my heart.


	15. The Descent

**Chapter Fifteen: The Descent**

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**A/N: Hey everyone. Well this chapter was...hard to write. I doubt you guys are going to like this, but it was planned from the beginning.**

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**Storm's POV**

They took me down into the darkness, into the dank pits of the Capitol that are reserved for rebels and traitors. I suppose that's what they see me as now. They took me down and locked me in a cell where I can't ever see the sun. The only things I have to indicate time of day or night are my sleep pattern and the food I am brought at fairly regular intervals. Not that I can sleep or eat much in any case. I only really do for the safety of the baby. I can barely stand though, because my knees shake whenever I do.

Cashmere is dead. She's dead. That rings through my head, like something tearing inside me and ripping my heart apart. I don't know where they are keeping Gloss, or if he is even alive. In some ways, it's probably better that he's dead. I've heard rumours of what goes on in this prison. I hear them screaming now sometimes, screaming and begging. All I can do is plug my fingers in my ears for what seems like hours before it ends. Yet they haven't come to torture me. I start to wonder about that.

Are they going to kill me? I find that I'm not concerned about my own safety anymore. Everything I do seems to be in order to keep my child alive. In my mind, my own fierce beliefs, it's a girl and her name is Cashmere. Like the woman who I condemned to death. I can't help but feel guilt, because maybe it was my stance against Hyperion that caused all of this. I have a bit of a cry then, quiet so that no one can hear.

More time passes.

The door to my cell creaks open and I shrink back on my bed. I go to instinctively curl my knees to my chest, but the bump gets in the way. So I just fist my hands in the crisp sheets and watch...and Gloss walks into the light. I'm on my feet in moments as the door slams shut behind us. I don't how long we have together before they take him away from me again. Is this my punishment? Seeing him alive, knowing that they are going to keep us apart? I rush to him and fling my arms around his neck.

"I...I saw what happened to Cashmere. I'm so sorry...I just...I wish things could be different...I wish..."

Gloss remains still in my arms, unmoving, unfeeling. I draw back and take him in, but there's an emptiness about him. It's like he doesn't feel a thing anymore. I've no doubt that this is what Cashmere's death has done to him. I reach out to touch his cheek, but he's faster, grabbing my wrist in a grip that bruises.

"Gloss?" I'm uncertain now. Maybe it was too fast, maybe I'm smothering him with all of my emotions when he can't feel a thing. It used to be the opposite. He used to be so angry so often, and there wasn't something I could do to calm him down. I almost want that rage now. I want him to feel _something._

"Capitolian," he snarls. I see the emotion then, the burning hatred in his blue eyes – and I can't understand it. How can he have fallen so far? How can we be back to this, after everything that's happened? Something's wrong, but I just can't pick up on what it is. His grip around my wrist tightens and I cry out, feeling the small bones cracking beneath his fingers.

"Gloss, what are you _doing_?!"

He spins me around, something feral twisting his face as he slams me hard into the wall. I choke as his hands tighten around my throat, and panic overwhelms me. This must be it. He must want to kill me. Cashmere's death has likely driven him insane. My vision becomes blurry and I realise there are tears in my eyes. Not of anger, or fear. Of pity. I always wanted to save Gloss, and now, after Cashmere's death, I realise he's too far gone.

His grip tightens and my head spins. I'm running out of air, I can't breathe. I try and scream, but I don't have enough energy for it. I can't even try and shove Gloss away, claw at him. Despite everything, I still love him. I love him and I don't want to hurt him any more than he has been hurt. Even if this is not the Gloss that I thought I knew. His fist cracks across my face and pain bursts across my lip.

"Gloss..." I whisper, weak and unable to stop the tears that are pouring down my cheeks, sobs choking out from between my lips. "It's me. It's Storm. Please. For Cashmere's sake, don't do this. Please, stop."

The cell door opens again with a crash. I'm vaguely aware of Gloss being ripped away from me as he struggles and fights. I stagger across the room to my bed, my world blurring in and out of focus. The door slams shut once again, closing me off from Gloss. My lip is swollen and bleeding and my head aches. My throat is sore. My wrists are throbbing. Pain...pain burning through me. Ripping through my stomach. I cry out in agony.

I press in on myself, as if I can hold myself together emotionally if I do it physically. There's another burst of pain in my stomach and I whimper, pressing a hand over the slight bump. Gloss never struck me there, but he didn't have to. It's the paranoia and the stress and the fear that's doing this.

That's when I see the blood staining the sheets, the blood blossoming out from between my legs. I start screaming even before I understand what it means, and once I comprehend exactly what I've lost, my screams intensify in volume. I'm panicking and although my throat feels like it's being torn by the force of my screams, I find that once I've started, I just can't stop.

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I don't know what happens next. Memories blur in and out. I remember a medical team, needles in my arms and plastic gloves on their hands. Something is given to me to stop the pain, but instead I feel emptiness. Empty like I thought Gloss was, before the inexplicable hatred surfaced. Except I'm physically empty as well as emotionally. My baby. It's all I can think about. I've lost my baby.

I'm not sure whether it's hours, days or weeks later that Hyperion enters my cell. His eyes are solemn as he sits on the bed beside me and tentatively touches my hand. I snatch it away. I don't want anything to do with him, or people at all. Nothing can compensate for my loss. Nothing will ever make this feel go away. There's no pain, just numbness in its place. He sighs heavily.

"I'm so sorry, Storm. Victors are savage and cruel. You should have listened to me. They can't be trusted."

Cashmere. I still cling to her memory. Even if Hyperion is right about Gloss, Cashmere was never cruel to me. She defies his words. I smile slightly at that, and laugh for reasons that I can't understand. Perhaps I'm beginning to go mad too, down here and these cells. I have nothing for company but my own thoughts. And now, Hyperion.

"He...he wasn't in his right mind." The hoarse words escape my mouth, causing Hyperion to give me a strange look. "When he lashed out. He's been driven mad by Cashmere's death. That's something that's your fault."

"Do you really believe what you're saying?" Hyperion sighs and glances around, unaccustomed to the darkness. Of course he would be. I don't even know why he bothered coming down here. Does he truly _care_ that I miscarried? Perhaps he's here as a mockery, a ghost of what I could have been had I chosen to be obedient.

"Yes," I croak.

"He's struck you before," Hyperion remarks, and my heart sinks to know that it's the truth. Would things have been any different, if Gloss had known about the child? I suppose it doesn't matter now, because he will never know. I rub my arms, but don't dare put my hands anywhere near my stomach. I don't want to remember anything about that. I just wish I could forget everything.

"I know." My voice shakes as I admit it.

"Things will get better," Hyperion informs me, getting to his feet, "You'll see."

I hope with all my heart that he's right. Because if things aren't getting better, they'll be getting worse. I don't know if I can take anything more. I curl up on my side and let the tears slide down my face as Hyperion exits my cell, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. Perhaps I'm to be forever in darkness. Maybe this is the price I pay for loving someone the Capitol deems unworthy.

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**Gloss's POV**

I wake from a nightmare of violence and blood. I rake my fingers through my lank hair, taking a few calming breaths. Sometimes, it's hard to remember what's real and what's in my head. Cashmere's death...all too real. My horrible nightmare of brutalising Storm...all in my head. I can still her hazel eyes, begging me, haunting me. I lurch to my feet and grab for my cup of water, downing the whole thing. I just want the images out of my mind. I am not normally averse to violence, but that was...it was too much.

"I see that you're awake."

I whirl around to see Hyperion leaning against the wall with his arms folded. I immediately tense up, watching with my hands balled into fists as he walks towards me with a somewhat amused expression.

"How are you feeling?"

"My head aches," I say through gritted teeth, "Not that my wellbeing matters to you, Capitolian."

"Capitolian." He laughs. "You called her that, too. Just before you started trying to choke her."

My blood runs cold. How can Hyperion know what happened in my nightmare? He smirks and I grab him by the shoulders and slam him against the wall, my teeth bared. I'm angry, but beyond that, I'm terrified. Terrified of what Hyperion might reveal. My grip on him tightens but he just laughs hoarsely.

"What are you talking about?" I hiss. There is no trace of mercy in my voice. For what the Capitol have done, I will show them no compliance. I am not going to sit and take whatever they dish out. It's their fault Cashmere is dead. I will rebel with every fibre of my being. "How were you in my head, seeing my dreams?"

"Dreams?" Hyperion repeats, amusement flashing through his eyes. "Oh, no. Do you mean hitting Storm and trying to strangle her? That was no dream, Gloss. That was all real."

I can't accept his words. The Capitol has told far too many lies for me to simply believe him. He is trying to make me feel more guilt. As if Cashmere's death has not caused me enough. I shake my head vigorously, a physical assurance of my denial.

"No. Not true."

"Oh, but it is." Hyperion's facial expression twists and changes into something like sympathy. "She told you she loved you, but it was obvious you never cared about her. She knew it, deep in her heart. Which is why she never told you the greatest secret of all."

"Stop messing with my head, dammit!" I snarl, pressing him harder against the wall. I wish that I could slam him into it, do some real damage and shatter his bones. He hurt my sister. He tried to hurt Storm. I won't let him hurt me. Despite his ever-morphing false expressions, the savage amusement never dies in Hyperion's eyes. He's won, we both know it. He just wants me to accept it.

"She was carrying your child," Hyperion replies, his voice far too calm for the topic he now addresses, "But after your little spat at her, Storm lost her nerve. And your child, for that matter."

No, he's lying. He has to be. Storm was never pregnant, she would have...no. No, she wouldn't have told me. Dread fills my entire being and I release Hyperion, taking a few staggering steps back. It all felt like a dream to me. Is it possible that he's telling the truth? Did I really cause Storm enough stress to make her miscarry a child..._my_ child? I don't even know how I feel about the prospect of being a father. I'm breathing heavily, trying to deny what is even settling in my mind as a horrific truth.

"LIAR!"

"I'm not lying," Hyperion says evenly, "Think about it. You know yourself that it's the truth."

I sit down heavily on my bed, not knowing what to say or do. I feel sick with guilt. I'm disgusted at myself. All those times I abused Storm, and I thought things had changed between us. Now I'm only proving myself to be the monster I swore I would never become. I'm like the Capitolians I loathe so much, who are cruel for no reason whatsoever. I have become a pawn for their entertainment.

A child. I never thought that I would have children of my own, and now I never will. It leaves me feeling hollow inside to know that I'm responsible for the death of something that was mine, something I might have been able to love as fiercely as I loved Cashmere. I try so hard to love Storm. I do love her, I suppose. But the reason I can't is because there is no way I can let someone I have abused so much have those kind of feelings for me.

"Out," I manage hoarsely, the only thing that escapes through the turmoil of self-loathing and a fury I know I won't be able to control. If Hyperion stays, I think I just might tear him to pieces, because he's something I hate that's within range. Wisely, he chooses to leave my cell, leave me to wallow in my misery.

As soon as the cell door slams shut, I begin my damage. I beat my fists against the wall, as hard as I can. I'm sure that I break a few fingers and there's blood running in thin rivulets down my clenched hands. But I don't care. For there is no damage I can ever do to myself that will compensate for this.

* * *

"I want to see her." Those are the first, firm words that escape from my mouth when Hyperion next enters my cell. I expect him to shake his head and mutter some excuses, clever reasons as to why I shouldn't be allowed near Storm. Instead, he neatly shrugs his shoulders, quirking one eyebrow.

"Are you sure?"

"I need to see her," I spit, but the words only come out as desperate. "I need to see the damage I've done."

Hyperion turns and gestures for me to follow. Guards accompany us down the corridor to Storm's cell, but in reality, there's no need. I have no desire to attack and kill Hyperion, for that would only prove him right. It would only serve to show that I am the monster both he and I believe me to be. Hyperion places a hand on the knob of Storm's door, turning to glance at me as he unlocks it. There's something disgustingly like triumph in his eyes as he pushes the door open, and gestures for me to enter.

I expect maybe screaming or crying when I walk into the cell, but Storm just sits there curled up on the bed, her eyes focused on the roof. Hope swells within me. Perhaps Hyperion was lying after all. Maybe I've just been lying to myself. But then Storm sits up, and the betrayal in her eyes makes me want to drive a knife through my heart more than ever before. She doesn't try and run away or hide. It's because any emotion she had left, I have driven out of her, along with the baby. I can taste bile.

"Storm?"

I reach out to her and she turns her face as if the gesture sickens her.

"Don't. Please don't touch me."

The words are hoarse, broken. I want her to taunt me. I want her to get under my skin until I laugh to realise that she's alright after all. Instead she just holds the fragments of herself together, except it's like they're clumsily pieced together with tape. There is no way that Storm Asterbury can go back to being the way she was. I realise, with overwhelming shame, how disappointed and revolted Cashmere would be.

That's when I really do throw up.


	16. Torture For My Sins

**Chapter Sixteen: Torture For My Sin**

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** A/N: Hey everyone! I know, I know, it's been a while...but I'm on holiday and it's been hard to find time to write. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter though. Please do review; it really does help motivate me!**

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**Storm's POV **

Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is convince yourself that you're okay, even when you know you're falling to pieces. That's how it feels when I wake up every morning, that it's a struggle just to make it through another day. But every day is the same – at least, until about a week after my miscarriage, when Hyperion enters my room and I'm escorted out of the prison cell and up, away, into a room with plush pillows and feather-filled duvets. It scares me even more than the cell.

Every night I sit outside on the balcony in the rooms that have become mine. I don't know where I am, just that it's in the Capitol somewhere. I can only guess that these rooms belong to Hyperion – but why has he done this? It's almost like they were waiting for something, waiting for the moment where I shattered before they finally decided to disorientate me even more by giving me comfort rather than the bare minimum.

The only thing that doesn't change is my solitude. My only visitor is Hyperion, and that brings little joy. When the sun dips below the horizon and I sit out on the balcony with a glass of wine in my hand, I can almost pretend that none of it ever happened. That I never met Gloss and Cashmere, that I was never pregnant, that I never lost the child. But then I remember the lack of understanding, the notion that something had snapped inside Gloss when he robbed me of the child he didn't even know I carried.

Sometimes, I want nothing more than to throw myself off the balcony.

Three weeks pass since my miscarriage, two since I was relocated. Hyperion enters my room with a smile and a dress. It's my size, an 8, a slinky blue cocktail thing that I would normally wear to some kind of dinner party. Hyperion lays the dress across my bed and I cautiously move away from the sanctuary of the balcony, the bitter comfort of the glass of wine, and examine the dress. The fabric is soft to the touch – silk. I look at Hyperion, and that smile is still there.

"It's for you."

"Why?" I ask, frowning. I can't comprehend what would have suddenly possessed Hyperion to give me gifts. Since the miscarriage, he's been nothing but kind, almost as if he truly regrets my loss. But I know it's nothing but an act, that's what makes it all the more painful. I'm struggling to tell truth from lies, nightmares from reality.

"The President is having a dinner party tonight." Hyperion walks out onto the balcony and picks up the bottle of wine. "He has requested that I bring you."

That only makes me feel even worse. Anything that President Snow wants with me can't be good. Does he know about the miscarriage? Does he even know that I was pregnant in the first place? I watch Hyperion, searching for some kind of hint, but I find none. So I pick up the dress and hold it to the light.

"Nice, isn't it?" Hyperion places a hand on my arm and I flinch away from him. Physical contact still makes me scared, and the fear frustrates me. Am I to become some kind of little mouse, to run away and hide? I don't want to be afraid anymore. I was fearless once, but that was when I had Cashmere. Now I have only her memory to give me strength. So I take a deep breath, and I smile back.

_Bring them down,_ Cashmere's voice whispers in my ear, _Tear them apart from the inside out._

But I can't. Because I'm broken.

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The blue dress fits all too well. So do the heels that go with it – three-inch stilettos that I would have had no problem walking in usually, but somehow my knees are wobbly and I'm finding it hard not to trip and fall. Hyperion is dressed in a suit with a blue tie that matches the colour of my dress, of Gloss's eyes.

We sit around a crowded table, in a crowded room, and the amount of people makes me feel like I'm suffocating. It's too much too soon. I've been alone for so long that so many people make me feel hemmed in. Hyperion explains to them 'what happened' – Gloss was enraged by the death of his sister and beat me almost to the point of death. He has been arrested, but the experience has left me shaken and mentally scarred.

Everyone Hyperion tells this story to is sympathetic. They pat my hand and soothe me, saying that the Victor will be brought to justice for his crimes. They all act like Gloss is some kind of animal, and I don't object...because there's more than a grain of truth in it. I remember his fist across my face and I suddenly feel like I can't breathe. Hyperion puts a hand on the small of my back when he notices my expression.

"Storm, it's okay. You're safe here. He can't hurt you."

I nod, because there are no words that can express how I feel. I let Hyperion lead me to the table and pull out my chair for me, like he is a gentleman. Yet I know he isn't. I know he is no better than Gloss, for he beat and raped Cashmere. But he is showing me _kindness_...and after the violence, after Gloss changed so quickly, I know that I have to believe in something else.

"To the President." One of the men raises his wine glass and drinks deeply. I see Snow with his white hair and haughty features sitting across the table. Everyone else raises their glass, so I pick mine up. Beside me, Hyperion takes a sip of his wine, red as blood. I remember Cashmere dying in Gloss's arms, and I know that it was Snow's fault. So I smile and set my glass down without drinking.

Snow notices. His vacant eyes fix on me, but he says nothing as we resume our seats. Hyperion places a hand over my wrist, fingers closing tightly, a cage. He stands and tugs me to my feet as well. A smile that I don't understand crosses his lips, and he lifts his fork and taps it on the side of his wine glass. The chiming sound resonates. It's high-pitched and I wince.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make." Everyone falls silent and listens, their eyes turning expectantly towards Hyperion. He slides an arm around my waist and I stiffen at the physical contact. "Storm and I are engaged to be married."

There is murmuring and then applause, but my world is spinning around me too fast for me to even begin to comprehend. I want to scream, to protest at all the things happening without my consent...yet I can't, because for some reason, I've lost my voice. A strained smile finds my lips and I nod stupidly, as if that's some kind of reassurance that Hyperion's words are the truth – not that any present would doubt them.

"This is good news indeed," Snow comments from his place at the table, his mere addition to the conversation causing all the murmuring to cease. "How soon is the wedding, Hyperion?"

I know why he's asking. I know what he wants. The soon I'm bound maritally to Hyperion, the sooner Snow knows he has some aspect of control over me. I plaster a smile across my face and turn to Hyperion – to the man who has the nerve to claim that he is my fiancé, when he never even asked me to marry him.

"Yes, that is a good question."

Something like annoyance flashes momentarily in Hyperion's eyes, but then the charming smile is back in place, like the mask never slipped.

"Possibly in a few months. We're eager."

A shiver of revulsion runs down my spine, and I glance around, searching for the one person who can make this better, the one Capitolian I could talk to and vent all of my frustrations and confusions.

"Where is Cinna?"

The table falls silent and everyone is staring at me as if I've just sworn in public. As if I've said something incredibly offensive. Hyperion forces a laugh and ruffles my hair affectionately, as if I'm a small child to be placated.

"My apologies. Storm has been so withdrawn after the incident with Gloss that she wasn't even aware of what happened with Cinna." He turns to face me, and his expression lapses into seriousness – yet there is a glint in his eyes, something almost like triumph. "Cinna betrayed the Capitol, Storm. He was involved in the rebellion. Cinna is dead."

In my head, I can hear Gloss screaming at me over and over: _What have you done?!_ I sit down heavily and observe my practically untouched glass of wine for the rest of the evening. I wish I had thrown myself off the balcony. Sometimes, a quick end is better than waiting around for the suffering to be done with.

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**Gloss's POV **

I pray night and day for the monster to go away, for some kind of forgiveness, but I don't know who I'm praying to, or praying for. In some ways, it's almost a relief that Cashmere is dead, that she hasn't the hell living has become. I don't pity myself. I _hate_ myself. It's Storm who truly deserves my sympathy. My child...she was pregnant with my child. Every time I repeat that to myself, I wish there was a way I could hurt myself more. But there's not, for knowing that is agony enough.

When the door opens, I know who to expect. He's always here, haunting me. Now that Storm is gone, Hyperion is constantly informing me of her progress – which is very little. There's an emptiness inside her now, a numbness that I know I created. The Games destroyed me, and I have destroyed Storm. It would only seem that the circle of destruction continues. Oh, Cashmere, I'm so glad you haven't lived to see me become like this. I glare across at Hyperion as he enters, as though somehow by hating him I can forget about hating myself. But I can't.

"Gloss." He watches me carefully, but we both know I won't strike him. That would only make me even more what I've sworn I'm not becoming. "I have some good news about Storm."

That makes me optimistic, when I know I shouldn't be. What kind of good news? I observe Hyperion warily, but I say nothing. Sometimes it's easier when you listen instead of speaking. You learn more that way.

"We are engaged."

His voice is smug. I can only think that he must be lying. Of course he is. This man raped and abused my sister, and tried to force himself on Storm. She _loathes_ him, why would she ever...oh. What have I _done_? By hurting Storm, I've driven her away, because she believes me to be the monster. Hyperion has likely done nothing but soothe her, attempt to ease her fears. He has played the light to my darkness...and now he has her.

I think of Storm. She is little more than a child really. An innocent, before I took that from her, too. I have ruined her, whether she wanted it or not. Now she is a fearful little girl once more, hiding away in the Capitol, probably thinking that Victors are all the monsters she thought...but no. She knew Cashmere, who was strong and brave and beautiful from the inside out. She can't hate all of us.

"You know, it's funny really. She still blames you." Hyperion is pacing now. His victory has made him arrogant. Maybe he thinks himself untouchable. "Don't you want to know _why_, Gloss? You snapped. The monster broke loose. But who freed it from its cage?"

I don't reply. Somewhere deep inside, the beginnings of an answer piece together. I try to ignore it. I don't want the horrific truth. But Hyperion smiles, that horribly cold smile that means he's about to say something that will rip me apart again.

"You were injected with a strong dose of tracker jacker venom. We wanted to see if you would give us answers, but you wouldn't. So we took you to Storm's cell, and unleashed you. We weren't sure what it would create within you. It brought out such _violence_."

I understand then. It wasn't some broken part of my own mind that caused Storm to lose her child. Hyperion isn't comforting her from my rage. He _engineered_ this to turn Storm against me, back to the Capitol way of thinking. I roar in rage and lunge at him, slamming him to the ground, for it's this man's fault that my sister is dead, that my _child_ is dead. Storm will never trust me again, and it's all because of Hyperion.

My fist connects repeatedly with his face, and blood spurts out from the man's nose and lips. It should feel good, I should feel bitterly victorious at causing him some sort of pain. But I don't, because Hyperion is laughing hoarsely despite the injuries I deal him, because he's _winning_. I see now that I'm only proving myself the monster he turned me into, the monster Storm thinks I am. Disgust fills every fibre of my being and I push myself away from him, raking my hands through my hair.

"You never fail to deliver," Hyperion gloats, getting to his feet and wiping the blood from his face. He smiles, his teeth stained scarlet. "How is it that the Capitol makes you an animal, when you so readily become one yourself?"

He turns and leaves my cell without another word, leaving me to contemplate his words. I crumble in on myself, pressing my face into my hands and wondering what's left, what I can possibly do now. I suppose I could end it. That way no one would get hurt anymore, and I would be with Cashmere. Could I be forgiven, for my sins? I doubt it.

But death is the easy way out. The Games taught me that a long time ago, and I would be a fool to forget it. I don't deserve the easy way out, not after the crimes I have committed, the things I have done to sort. I have to live and find a way to repent. I will make it up to her if it's the last thing I do. I just don't know how, for I'm here rotting away in the dungeons, and she's far away by now, months away from being Hyperion's bride.

Why he wants her, I can't tell. It's not about any kind of feelings, I know that much. I think it's to do with power, with the fact that if Storm marries him she will be under his control...and she's too broken to resist it. I huddle into a ball and realise that I have a lot of time to think about how to apologise. I just don't know that Storm will listen to a thing I say...and I can't blame her for that.


	17. She Wants Revenge

**Chapter Seventeen: She Wants Revenge**

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**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry, I know I haven't updated in ages...but I promise after this chapter, things will start to look up for Storm and Gloss. A huge thanks to: Drizzlemist, CO COSH, our little infinity, Bloodredfirefly, SafeEyesOpen, Total Targaryen and Lilac Alyssa Halliwell. **

**Also, question – if Hyperion should die, how should he be killed and who should do it? ;)**

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**Storm's POV**

President Snow wants to speak to me. The notion sends shivers down my spine, for although I have seen the President on many a public occasion, he has never requested to see me privately. I can't help but panic, although I am not quite sure what about. At least I should be grateful that I'm feeling _something_ again. Although the fact that I'm marched to his office by armed guards makes me feel like the criminal I was arrested for being. But Hyperion inducted me back into society. That means I was let off the hook – doesn't it?

"Ah, Miss Asterbury." The President is sitting in a plush chair in front of a mahogany desk. He makes no move to rise as I enter. The door clicks shut behind me and suddenly I am alone. Being in a room with only an old man across a desk shouldn't be a frightening experience, but it _is._ Snow indicates the chair opposite him. "Please, do sit."

I swallow and do as I am told. I've become rather good at that lately. I keep my mouth shut about Gloss, and especially about the baby. I let Hyperion give me a kiss on the cheek goodnight, and sometime pepper kisses on my neck. Inside, I shrivel away into nothing, burrowing away inside myself until I fear I don't even exist anymore. I don't want to marry Hyperion. I don't.

"I wanted to congratulate you personally on your engagement to Hyperion Dormer." Snow presses his fingers into a steeple and surveys me over the top of them. I squirm in the chair, for it's slippery and it's hard to sit still without sliding around in it. "He is not a man easily pleased, so it is...interesting that you have acquired his attention."

_You should consider yourself lucky,_ that's what he's trying to tell me. I should feel lucky that Hyperion saved me from whatever awful torments they put Gloss through. Do I care if Gloss suffers, after he took my baby from me? I should feel lucky that Hyperion has not attempted to force any attentions on me, but I know why that is. He thinks I will submit to him in my own time, that _I _will approach _him._ I no longer known if he's wrong or right, what's up and what's down.

"Thank you, sir," I manage, although my tongue feels thick and it's hard to force words around it.

"Perhaps you think me ignorant." Snow's voice becomes firmer now, although it doesn't lose that saccharine sweetness, the tone that's no doubt to be fatherly. "But I know everything there is to know about you, Miss Asterbury. Oh yes, I am very much aware of your repellent relationship with that Gloss Delucan from District 1. I even know that you carried his child, before he beat it out of you. Is that how you wish the Capitol to perceive you? As a Victor's whore?"

The word 'whore' makes me flinch, because I didn't expect it. No one has ever addressed me in such a manner before. I have heard plenty of Capitolian men jeering about Cashmere and calling her that – but I don't want to think about Cashmere, because that's like a white-hot knife to the heart. I didn't know that my reputation had become something so low, and I think that perhaps Hyperion has saved me after all.

"No, sir," I whisper, because I can't think what else to say.

Snow sniffs disapprovingly. "Fortunately for you, Hyperion is offering you a new chance. You can have a life with him and all of your past wrongs will be forgotten – provided you cooperate. If there is any hint of resistance, of involvement with this...rebellion, then I can assure you that things will turn out very bad very quickly for you. Am I understood, Miss Asterbury?"

I don't want to let go of the past, but I guess I can keep it inside myself like an anchor, something that will point out the truth in times when I begin to doubt myself and my allegiance. I will hold Cashmere inside my heart, her courage and her defiance, and her memory will be the light inside the darkness I am forced to accept. So I nod, and force a bitter smile across my lips.

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

* * *

I'm up pacing although it's past midnight. There is something I must do, some unsatisfied part of me that knows although I am to marry Hyperion and do as I am bid, there is something left unresolved. It's not until Hyperion himself pads into the kitchen and switches on the light, rubbing his eyes, that I realise what it is. I spin to face him and he watches me with a frown.

"Storm? What's the matter? Go back to bed, it's late."

Normally I am a robot, to obey without question and do precisely what Hyperion instructs me. Tonight is different. If I have to destroy any last remnants of the past, I need to understand the reason behind all the things that have happened. Reasons that start and end with Gloss.

"I want to see Gloss."

"What?" Hyperion appears astounded. In the month since my miscarriage, I have never once asked to speak to the man who caused it. Something a bit like fear flares in his eyes, before he is impassive once more. "Why would you want to talk to him? I can schedule a visit, but..."

"No." My voice is firm. No more lies, no more pretence. That's all the Capitol is about, but I want more than simply an empty promise. "I want to see him _now_."

"What's gotten into you?" Hyperion seems perturbed by my lack of compliance. "You're normally so docile – have you been having nightmares, about the baby?"

I shake my head. President Snow has told me that I must accept the new life Hyperion is creating for me, but I know that I must close all the doors behind me before I begin to open new ones. Only once I've spoken with Gloss will I finally be able to turn away from the past, and accept my future with open arms.

"I want to know why he did it."

* * *

**Gloss's POV **

The silence and the darkness have no time and place. It's just an endless void now, so vast it makes me want to scream out. How long have I been trapped here? Only Hyperion's spontaneous visits mark any passage of time. It could be days, weeks...months. The stubble that was on my chin is beginning to form into a beard. I feel dirty, like a savage. Isn't that what they wanted? Now I look like the criminal I supposedly am.

The door opens, but I don't look up. I know what's coming. More mocking on what I've done, the monster I can never lock inside me. I don't try and attack Hyperion now, because in the end, although there is no punishment for such actions, it's the knowledge that he is _right_ about me that hurts the most. But the footsteps are too light to be his. I look up, hoping, praying but not _knowing_...and it's her, it's Storm. But...why?

"Gloss?" She is cautious, and she has every right to be. No doubt she is afraid that I will lash out at her again, hurt her. The knowledge of what I have done weighs me down more than any anchor ever could. I tentatively get to my feet, slowly, because I notice her shrinking back even as I rise. "How...how are you?"

"Well enough," I rasp, and by the hoarseness of my voice I realise it's been some time since I've actually spoken. I must look filthy, but Storm – she looks healthy. She's thinner than before, and her eyes lack something, but she is dressed nicely and her hair is braided back and I know she is being treated well. This relieves me more than anything, because Storm didn't deserve any more abuse, not after what I did to her. Her smile is soft and a little hesitant, and very sad.

"I...there's something I wanted to tell you." Storm holds out her hand, and it's shaking, and there's something glittering there...oh god. I don't think I've ever seen a ring so big. The diamond sparkles even in the dim light, and I look at Storm, my eyes holding questions that my mouth is too afraid to ask. But she knows what I want to say, and she answers them all for me. "I'm engaged. To Hyperion. We are to marry at the end of the year."

_Hyperion._ The man who violated my sister and attempted to do the same to Storm before I caught him. Why the hell would she agree to marry such a monster? Although I suppose, she seems to have a love for monsters. She admitted she loved me, before the Games. It just broke me too much for me to say I loved her back, when I knew that I was going to die. But I didn't. I'm alive, and I should tell her...only after everything that's happened, everything I've done to her, the words seem empty.

"There's something I should say as well," I reply. It's not what she wants to hear, not the three words I wish I had the courage to force out. It's a horrific truth, it's the meaning behind the madness. "When I...attacked you...when you lost our child..."

"Don't." She turns her face, pain contorting her features. Even now it hurts too much for her to talk about, but I plough on. She deserves to know the truth about the man she's going to marry, whether by her will or not.

"No, Storm...I know this doesn't excuse what happened, not at all – but Hyperion told me. He injected me with tracker jacker venom and set me upon you in the hope that I _would_ make you lose the baby."

She looks up sharply. The pain in her eyes changes to something else entirely. Everything she thought she knew has changed. Storm opens her mouth and for a minute, I think that she's going to say something cutting, defy my words and claim them to be lies, but then she starts screaming. She fists her hands in her hair and falls to her knees, sobbing hysterically. She knows now as well as I do that it wasn't entirely my fault, that Hyperion's actions played some part in her miscarriage.

I tentatively cross over to Storm as she cries and kneel beside her. She doesn't move away, or even recoil. Instead she glances at me and for once, I can give her what she wants. I hold her tight as she screams for her madness, the insanity not meant for a Capitolian, for the child she has lost. The child I gave her, and then so cruelly took away. I stroke her hair and I know nothing can make it better.

I can't replace what we had, the child she bore. It's too late for us. The times Storm and I had together were scarce, but now they won't existent, for she is promised to Hyperion. Maybe he intends to replace my child with one of his own. That notion makes me nauseous, to the extent where I have to swallow bile.

"Why are they doing this?" Storm asks, her voice broken as her tear-filled eyes meet mine. She furiously wipes them away, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But we both know the answer to her question. The Capitol has always maintained control over every aspect of our lives, no matter how small. Storm and I were never meant to collide. It was harmless – until the child was conceived.

"We can still bring them down," I assure her, "They think you're one of them now, you can..."

"I can do what?" Storm exclaims, before she lowers her voice again. "Get you killed? Or worse? I watched Cashmere die, I won't watch you die. If this rebellion is really occurring, why don't they do something of use?"

I understand her. She's not being selfish. It's not her own neck she's not willing to risk. We both lost Cashmere and I understand that after everything I've done, despite being engaged to Hyperion...she still loves me.


	18. Dig Up Her Bones

**Chapter Eighteen: Dig Up Her Bones**

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** A/N: Hey everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Things are starting to look better for Gloss and Storm...well, sort of. There are some dark themes in this chapter, nothing really M-rated, but just watch out for them.**

* * *

**Storm's POV **

I watch the sun rise every morning, as if somehow, a new dawn is going to bring some sort of respite. I'm always left disappointed. Every day is the same, dragging along painfully with usually only Hyperion for company. His caresses disgust me, and when he kisses me, I pretend that it's Gloss. I know what he's done now, the crimes he has committed against Gloss and I. He has hurt Cashmere. He likely authorised her death, and certainly Gloss's imprisonment. It's his fault, not Gloss's, that I lost my child.

"Look what came today." Hyperion is all smiles as he enters the kitchen with a package in his hands, and I look up from my mug of green tea and watch as he places a hand over the item. "It's your wedding dress."

I frown. "I thought that was bad luck..."

"Only for the groom to see the bride _in_ the wedding dress before the event," Hyperion corrects me, setting the package down on the table in front of me. I trail my fingers over it and peel back the wrapping. The wedding dress is...exquisite. Of course it would be. Only the best for Capitolians, while in the districts, people are literally starving to death. I hold the dress up to the sunlight.

"It's beautiful," I breathe. I already know that there will be no wedding though. There have been ideas running rampant in my mind, ever since I discovered the truth of what Hyperion has done, how he has turned me away from those I loved and tried to push the blame onto them instead. The only problem is, am I strong enough?

"Did you want to try it on?" Hyperion inquires, taking the empty mug and setting it on the kitchen counter.

"Of course, just let me cut the last of the packaging off first." I wander into the kitchen with the dress and take out a pair of scissors, cutting away the last of the plastic. The dress is perfection. I slide the scissors back into the drawer and take out a knife, sliding it into the myriad folds of the white dress.

When I walk into my room and close the door, my hands are clammy and I can feel myself shaking as I slide the knife out. I was not born for this, but I have been made into something I can't undo. I scramble out of my pyjamas, sliding on the wedding dress and examining my reflection in the mirror. I'm stunned into silence. I should look radiant. But all that's looking back at me is a corpse bride, the ghost of a woman who once was.

I take a deep breath. It's now or never. Brushing aside the sheets concealing the knife, I pick it up and run my finger along the edge, hissing when it nicks a small indent my skin. The blood welling there makes me feel more alive than I have been for a very long time. I open the door and walk into the kitchen to find Hyperion, with a knife pressed tight behind my back.

* * *

**Gloss's POV **

I wake to the sound of loud shouts and muffled thuds. This is far from normal. I push myself to my feet, curious. The dullness that drags on every day has been broken by the sound of violence outside my cell. When the door opens, I find myself looking upon an unfamiliar face – but I can immediately tell that this is no Capitolian. He lowers his gun when he notices me, a frown crossing his features.

"Who are you, then?" he demands. He's young, even younger than Storm – perhaps only in his late teens. I'm forced to wonder what he's doing here, although judging by the fact that he hasn't shot me, I think he might be part of the rebellion that Storm was begging us to join with.

"Gloss Delucan, District 1 Victor," I reply flatly. The young man's eyes flash with recognition and he nods slowly, holding out a hand. I know better than to be too proud, to refuse this offer. If I can escape then I will...but I won't do so alone. I can't leave Storm here in the Capitol, not now that she knows the truth.

"Do you know where a woman named Storm Asterbury is being kept?" I inquire, catching the young man's arm as he drags me out into the hall where several others with guns are patrolling. I notice the mockingjay symbol sewn into their vests. It's the same symbol that the girl from District 12 wore into her Games. My lip curls with distaste at the thought of her.

"The District 1 escort?" The young man appears puzzled as to why I've mentioned her. "Probably with Hyperion, one of Snow's most loyal. They're engaged."

"I know," I snap, before I force myself to calm down. "We need to get her out."

"We?" The young man raises his eyebrows. He's clearly not keen on the idea of going to get a Capitolian woman and I can't say that I blame him. A year ago, I would have flatly refused to risk my life in order to save someone from the Capitol. But things have changed...Storm has changed me. "Look, Gloss, I've heard the rumours about you and this girl, but...you have to let her go. They won't hurt her now, but they'll kill you both if you try and get her out."

"I'll go alone if I have to," I growl. I'd rather remain in prison than leave the Capitol without Storm. If I die just to get her out, so be it. I've made so many fucking mistakes that the least I can do is get this right. "Just give me your gun and tell me where to meet the rest of you. I assume you're headed for one of the districts?"

"District 13," the young man nods, giving me a quizzical look and drawing a knife, handing it to me. "There's a helipad on the prison roof. It's where they drop the prisoners to be escorted down here. Meet us there in half an hour, with or without your girl, because that's when we're leaving."

"You're not going to be alone." I whirl around to see Enobaria striding towards me. She has a black eye and there are mottled bruises all over her, but she's just as tough as ever. She offers me a smile that looks more like a grimace. "There are still two members of the Career pack alive. How about we do this for Cashmere and Brutus?"

My heart soars and I feel _alive._ Maybe there's a chance I can do this right after all. I spin the knife in my hand and the young man sighs and tosses Enobaria his gun. She catches it and there's a feral smile across her face, gold teeth flashing dangerously in the light. She's right about one thing: we're still Careers. Despite what we've been through, we still have it in us to be ruthless killers.

* * *

**Storm's POV**

"What are you doing, Storm?" Hyperion looks up from his newspaper and mug of coffee, frowning slightly when he sees me in the wedding dress. "Didn't I just tell you that it's bad luck for a groom to see the bride in the dress before the wedding?"

"I'm sure many things are bad like," I reply smoothly, keeping one arm pressed behind my back. "But I don't believe in luck. I believe in fate, and that choices dictate what a person becomes."

Hyperion shakes his head and takes another slow sip from his mug. "You're talking nonsense again."

"Am I?" I raise an eyebrow and try and control my quickly rising temper. I don't want this to be over fast. I want Hyperion to know exactly why I'm doing this. I want him to see the meaning of revenge burning in my eyes before it happens. I want him to know that I've become what he hates the most. "Am I talking nonsense when I say that it was _you_ who was responsible for the death of my baby? Am I?!"

Hyperion sighs and rakes a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "Ah, so Gloss told you about that."

"Did you think it was going to be a secret forever?" I move even closer. He's still barely glancing up from the newspaper. "I'm not the stupid little girl you seem to take me more. I know what you've done."

"So what?!" Hyperion bellows, snapping like an elastic band and pushing himself to his feet, striding over towards me. "You know what I've done, big deal. What are you going to do about it, Storm? There's nothing you _can_ do! You're spineless, weak!"

The insults are too much. After everything Hyperion has done, they're the last motive for my actions. I whip the knife out from behind my back and my hand swings forward, the knife stabbing through Hyperion's throat. He chokes and stiffens up, spitting out blood. I'm spattered in crimson liquid, staining my white dress like a disease. I don't falter and shrink away. I twist the knife slowly, digging it further in as Hyperion tries to scream, but all that comes out is a wet gurgle.

He crumples to the ground and I lean down to rip the knife free, staring without feeling at the bloody mess I've created. The beige carpet is stained scarlet and Hyperion's throat is a torn mess. I understand now what it's like to be Gloss, how one can become a murderer. I didn't kill Hyperion so that I could live, though. I did it so that I would find peace. I still don't know any other way to find peace other than through the void.

My fingers close tighter around the hilt of the knife. Am I coward for what I'm about to do, or a hero? Would Gloss be ashamed of me? I don't want to think about it. All I know is that this is the only end I can contemplate anymore. Surely I will die in any case for murdering Hyperion. If my life is to end, it will be on my terms.

So I press the knife to my abdomen and push in the blade. A scream tears from my throat.

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

Enobaria and I don't show hesitation, because we can't afford to. Everyone in our path is either cut down by my knife, or shot by the gun Enobaria wields. It sounds gruesome, but killing makes me feel more alive than ever. Maybe it's because I want revenge, I want to vent because the Capitol is responsible for Cashmere's death. We reach Hyperion's floor and Enobaria guns down the Peacekeeper running for the alarm.

Suddenly, I find myself apprehensive. When I open the door, what am I going to find? If Hyperion has done anything to Storm...well, I know I'm going to kill him anyway, it would just mean he would merit a slower death. My hand is shaking slightly as I open the door...and what I see stuns me more than anything I could ever have imagined.

Hyperion is lying dead in a pool of his own blood, his throat slashed as if by a knife. The pool of scarlet spreads out all around him like a weed. Storm kneels a few feet from his body, her face and the white dress she's wearing – is it a wedding dress? – stained with blood. Then I see the knife piercing her stomach and I run over, almost tripping over Hyperion's body in my haste to reach her.

"Storm!"

"Gloss?" Her gaze seems to slide in and out of focus, as though she isn't sure whether she's dreaming or awake. She reaches out to me and I take her hand in both of my. She's so pale, her hand's so cold – but I can't let her die. I won't, not after all we've been through. It makes sense now, what happened here...Storm killed Hyperion, and now she is trying to kill herself.

"You have to stay with me." I pull her into my arms as Enobaria walks over and pauses. Storm is fading fast, and we both know it. We need to get to the helipad immediately. I hoist Storm up, watching as she struggles to keep her eyes open. I can't let her die. I'll lose myself if she does. "Storm, I...I love you."

She smiles at that, tears welling in her eyes. "I love you too."

"We need to go, now," Enobaria says sharply, glancing around. "The others will leave without us if they have to. If we're lucky, they'll have a medic on board."

I don't speak, because I don't want to voice what happens if we aren't lucky. I already know what will happen, and I can't even bear thinking about it let alone saying it aloud. Instead I nod and hoist Storm up higher, following Enobaria out of the room at a light jog.


	19. It Took The Death Of Hope

**Chapter Nineteen: It Took The Death Of Hope**

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** A/N: Hey guys! As usual, huge thanks for all the reviews! I'm always amazed by your feedback. Anyway, this is actually a pretty good chapter for Gloss and Storm - with a possibly unexpected turn. Nothing bad, though, I promise! **

**Also, a note on the character of Elethea Ambrose: she is another OC, one who is from my Finnick/OC story, which you can find on my profile. It's called Dig Up The Bones, and I'd love it if you read and reviewed! There will be Storm and Gloss in that story too, but not until later on.**

* * *

**Storm's POV **

_Beep._

"She has no place here. What were you thinking, bringing her with you? You have made a dangerous mistake, Paylor. This could cost all of our lives, you know. We can't trust her."

It's a woman's voice, sharp and accusing, as I swim into consciousness. I know that she's talking about me, and I realise the controversy I have caused. The knife wound in my stomach burns and itches and stings, and I wonder if perhaps it might have been better if I really had died.

_Beep._

"She's just as damaged as the rest of us, Coin," another female woman argues, this one strong but not as harsh. "She tried to kill herself. I think we need to stop assuming that all of the Capitolians are out for our blood."

"She tried to kill herself because she's _weak_," the first woman – Coin – snaps. "Why was she brought here? Because some District 1 Victor believes himself to be in love with her. Have you heard anything more ridiculous?"'

_Beep._

The constant beeping of the heart rate monitor makes me restless. I stir and open my eyes, glancing around a room that's full of whites and greys. Dull colours. There's nothing bright about this room, which is the first indication of how far away from the Capitol I am. I swallow hard and see two women, one dark-haired and in her early thirties, the other with steel-grey hair and about fifty. Gloss is nowhere to be seen.

"She's awake." It's the younger woman with the less harsh voice – Paylor. She gets to her feet and walks over. Although I'm confined to a bed with a knife wound to the gut, she approaches cautiously, as though I might attack her at any moment. Clearly, not everyone here – wherever 'here' is – has become as accustomed to Capitolians as Gloss.

"What's going on?" The door bursts open and another woman barges in – although this one far younger, probably only around nineteen or twenty. Her eyes land on me and I feel a surge of recognition. She's beautiful, as beautiful as Cashmere was, with long black hair and dark green eyes with thick lashes. Her full lips part as she takes me in, and I can't help but be stupidly jealous – especially of the fact that she's curvaceous while I can probably barely fit into a size 8 anymore.

"Elethea Ambrose!" Coin barks, her grey eyes flaring as she marches over to the girl. Despite the fact that Elethea can't be much more than five feet tall, she draws herself up to full height and meets Coin's gaze brazenly. "What are you doing in here? This is a restricted area. Did no one tell you..."

"I just wanted to see the Capitolian," Elethea interrupts, which only makes Coin flare up even more. I know who she is now – the girl who won the 69th Hunger Games, and Finnick Odair's sweetheart. Why she's interested in me is beyond me and at first I tense, but when she looks at me, she smiles.

Coin clenches her jaw, but Paylor crosses over and murmurs something in her ear, causing the grey-haired woman to storm out. Paylor offers me a seemingly apologetic glance before following her out, leaving me alone with Elethea. The moment the door snaps closed, the dark-haired girl sits on the edge of my bed and her face seems to close off, her expression becoming solemn and thoughtful.

"Is it true that you killed Hyperion?"

After all that's happened, this question catches me off-guard...but then I remember more about Elethea, where I've seen her before. A dark-haired girl leaving Hyperion's room early in the morning, a red mark on her face as she scuttled away in shame. It would seem Cashmere isn't the only Victor that my _betrothed_ has abused. There's something shining in Elethea's green eyes, and I realise that she's grateful. She's _thankful_ that I brutally murdered Hyperion.

I risk a nod, and Elethea's smile widens.

"Gloss has been worried sick about you. At first, no one was sure whether you'd survive."

At first, I'm ashamed. It's my fault that Gloss was concerned, because I drove the knife through my own stomach. Is it selfish, wanting to die after you think you can't take anything else life has to throw at you? When my moment of guilt is over, I glance sharply up at Elethea. I wonder how close she is with Gloss, this pretty girl who is definitely not his sister.

"You and Gloss are close?"

She shakes her head. "Once. Relax, I've got no interest in him. Finnick's the only guy I have eyes for."

"Storm Asterbury," I croak out, realising with embarrassment that I'm behaving in an accusatory manner towards Elethea before I've even introduced myself properly. "I mean, that's my name. Storm."

"I know." Elethea tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, examining me considerably. "I mean, I'm like Gloss. I'm one of those people who used to think Capitolians were all inherently evil...but I suppose you proved us all wrong. I hear Hyperion also made you miscarry a child."

I nod, tensing at the memory, which she brings up all too calmly. "He did."

Elethea smiles at me, but her eyes are full of pain and even her lips are sad. "I suppose at least you can conceive. I can't have children, not ever."

"He..." The words are hard to force out, but some part of me needs to know the truth, the great evils that Hyperion attempted to hide from my prying eyes. "Did he..."

"Rape me?" Elethea laughs hoarsely, finishing the sentence that I could dare utter, for fear that I couldn't put it delicately enough. She tosses back her hair and seems completely comfortable with discussing the matter. "Yes. He did."

I feel pity for her, for all the Victors that have been hurt by Hyperion, and have to remain in silence for fear of what may be done to them if they speak out. I might have lost my child, but this girl has been raped, possibly more than once. Hyperion never really touched me in such a manner, not during our betrothal at least. I want to reach out to Elethea, yet I fear she'll recoil from my touch.

Elethea glances at me sharply, tilting her head to the side. "Will you help us fight back? Take down the Capitol?"

"Yes," I reply firmly, and I don't think I've ever been certain about anything in my life. The Capitol took Cashmere. They took my baby. But more importantly than that, they've been killing children for seventy-five years. It's time to make it stop. "Yes, I will."

* * *

**Gloss's POV**

It's amazing in itself to see Storm up and walking. I'm glad that Elethea spoke to her, because I feel like she really needed another strong female around now that Cashmere is gone. She approaches me with a brave smile across her face, as though she hadn't been through so much pain, as though she hadn't attempted to take her own life by stabbing herself in the stomach. While she slept, I made the most important decision in my life...and I only hope she can accept it.

"You look good," I tell her.

There's been a lot of controversy over Storm's presence here. Coin is convinced that she's a Capitol spy, despite the fact that I've been attempting to convince them otherwise, as have other Victors. I know that soon enough, we will make our move on the Capitol, hopefully killing President Snow.

"Thank you." She flushes slightly, but I feel awkward. I want desperately to ask my question, but this is the first time I've seen her properly, when I'm not in a prison cell or she's not convulsing in her own blood. Do I still know her, or are we strangers now, back to square zero? The thought sends unpleasant chills up my spine. I want us to whole again.

"How do you feel about me?" I can't help but blurt, feeling my face burn with embarrassment. It's strange to think that once I was made of stone, so uncaring. But now I care about Storm more than anything in the world. I made my mistakes by pushing her away, and now I don't ever want to risk losing her again. Can things go right this time? I've already lost so much. Am I destined to lose her, too?

"You know I care about you, Gloss." Storm's eyes search me, as though she's wondering why I'm asking such a question. "In fact, it was you who didn't seem to love me when I said..."

"I know what you said," I interrupt her, because it always stings to remember the hurt that crossed her face when she said she loved me and I never answered her. She isn't the fragile Capitol girl I first met. I think I'll always remember finding her in Hyperion's rooms, his throat torn open and a knife piercing her stomach. That's when I realised she had more courage than the rest of us – the courage to kill when it was necessary, not just for the sake of survival.

"Storm Asterbury." I get down on one knee, weighed down by the ridiculousness of it all and the small velvet box in my pocket, which I withdraw and open. The ring isn't huge and sparkly like the one Hyperion gave her. It's plain and it burns bright, fierce silver as Storm stares at it. "Will you marry me?"

She turns on her heel and runs. A sinking feeling curls in my stomach like a coiling snake, and I push myself to my feet and follow her. I catch her in a few steps, but when I snatch her wrist and draw her back, she bursts into tears and presses her face into her hands, shaking her head. I swallow bile at the thought that she will always see me as the monster, the animal that took her child – _our _child – from her. The velvet box almost slips through my fingers.

"It's too fast," she sobs, choking back tears, "It's all happening so fast."

I pull her close and stroke her hair and this time she doesn't resist me. She cries into my chest and I understand that she does love me after all. She doesn't want to make a mess of things, she doesn't want to be pushed, like Hyperion continuously pushed her to what might have been an early grave if Enobaria and I hadn't happened upon her.

"I get it," I tell her, catching her by the shoulders and tilting her chin up. "You want to wait. I understand..."

"No." Storm looks up at me, and although her eyes are still full of tears, they're burning with fire. The same sort of fire I saw in Cashmere, in Honey. It's the ferocity of a Victor, only inside a Capitolian woman. "We don't know when we'll die, Gloss. Cashmere was constantly trying to make us see, trying to fit us together when we wouldn't do it ourselves...and she was right. She's always been right."

I'm a little confused. "What are you saying, Storm? You want to get married soon?"

"Tonight." It's there on her lips, the first genuine smile I've seen in an eternity. "Just a small group of people."

I can't help but gape. "Are you serious?"

She laughs then, and it's real, it's magical. "I've never been more serious in my life."

* * *

**Storm's POV **

I fiddle nervously with the hem of a short, summery white dress that Elethea has leant me. Of course, it's a bit too big, considered she's got more in the way of womanly curves than me, but it'll do nicely. I wish with all my heart that Cashmere could be alive to witness this, the spur of the moment decision that just might be the sanest I've ever made.

Instead it's Enobaria, with her gleaming gold teeth, and a surprisingly nearly sober Haymitch Abernathy. The man there to make us say our vows may or may not even be a proper priest, and I feel like laughing and crying at the same time. I take Gloss's hand in mine and he squeezes it reassuringly. He doesn't smile. I think that this is possibly the most nervous he's ever been in his life.

I don't know why I chose now. I think it's because we all know there's a war coming, and the Capitol could kill any of us at any time. I don't want to end my days waiting for the right time, waiting for peace or perfection. Perfection doesn't exist. I want to be with Gloss, probably, and he actually seems to want it too. Maybe we're just a little bit crazy, driven mad by our torment in the Capitol, but I can't seem to care anymore.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."

"Oh, get on with," Haymitch says rather impatiently, and I get the feeling he's got places to go and people to say. "There isn't exactly a gathering here, so just get to the vows already."

The priest clears his throat. "Well. Yes. Do you, Gloss Delucan, take Storm Asterbury to be your lawful wedded wife, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Gloss glances at me and I see it all there, the struggle of our past. "I do."

The priest turns to me, and I can't feel my toes suddenly. I'm spinning with the weight of the two simple words that will change everything.

"And do you, Storm Asterbury, take Gloss Delucan to be your lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

I swallow hard and lick my dry lips. "I do."

"Then I now pronounce you man and wife." The priest glances at Gloss. "You may kiss the bride."

Gloss doesn't just kiss me – he turns to me and picks me up off my feet, earning a muffled squeal of indignation. I think I hear Haymitch chuckle. When he sets me down again and we break contact, I'm red-faced and he's grinning like an idiot. Smiling. Gloss is smiling. It seems that miracles do happen after all.

"Where are we going for our honeymoon?" I ask teasingly.

"To my room." Gloss takes my hand and tugs me out, and I know that his intentions aren't malevolent and that he only wants to show me what it's like to be one, as we experienced before in times of less happiness. But I can see Elethea's misery at her inability to bear a child, I can see the bruises on Cashmere's face, and I stagger in my steps, tugging my hand from his and wrapping my arms around myself.

"Gloss...not tonight."

He immediately becomes concerned. "What's wrong? Is everything alright? Storm, did he...?"

I shake my head fervently. "No, he never touched me. But I know he hurt other women, and it just makes me sick to think of it."

Gloss presses a kiss to my forehead, stroking back my hair. "It's alright. I can wait, there's no hurry."

There's no hurry for me, either. I think Gloss and I will be content, for as long as we can be together...which now, thanks to the vows we've just uttered, will be forever...if the war doesn't tear us apart first.


	20. From The Darkness To The Sun

**Chapter Twenty: From The Darkness To The Sun**

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**A/N: Wow guys. So, I didn't intend for this to be the LAST chapter, but as it turns out...I think the events of Mockingjay speak for themselves. I'm only here to do Storm and Gloss's point of view and as they weren't active participants, a lot of this is reaction-based. I hope you enjoy this final chapter. If you haven't already, I'd love it if you read my Finnick/OC, **_Dig Up The Bones._** Thanks so much for your support, guys!**

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**Storm's POV**

The reports that President Snow has been arrested come flooding in. Immediately, I want to return to the Capitol. This is something I want to see for myself. The man who has been behind the Games for so long, who was responsible for ensuring I was betrothed to Hyperion, for the loss of my child. I've been uncomfortable with physical contact with Gloss, but I'm opening up to him more and more. My face reddens at the prospect of asking him whether he _wants_ to conceive a child.

"Do you think they'll kill him?" I ask Gloss. We're taking a hovercraft to the Capitol, after he surrendered to my insistence and sought permission from Paylor. She shook her head, but she was smiling when she said yes. When the bombs went off and killed all of those children, and the medics – including Katniss Everdeen's sister Primrose – I knew that there was no way Snow could get away with his crimes. Such a blatant display of his callousness would never be forgiven.

"I hope so." Gloss has been quiet for most of the journey and I know that this huge event has caused him to look back on his life, look back at the 68th Hunger Games and his life with Cashmere. Her death caused a hole to be burned in his heart, but I like to think that hole is beginning to heal.

He is one of the few Victors that hasn't been murdered – and I wonder why. He was completely at Hyperion's mercy, and yet Hyperion didn't have him killed. Did he think it was crueller to keep him alive, torturing him with the knowledge that he would never have me, that he was responsible for the loss of our child? I clutch at his hand tighter and he glances at me quizzically. We both have our scars now – and I realise that I'm closer to being a Victor than most people in District 1. I _understand._

"We'll be touching down in a few minutes," the pilot calls over the intercom. I'm slightly nervous, because I am here to see one of the most monumental changes in Panem's history. Even if Snow is not found guilty, he will never again be able to exert his tyrannical hold over Panem. This makes me more relieved than I can say. It's strange to think that, two years ago, I was in complete blissful ignorance to the pain people like Gloss endured, even years after their Games had concluded.

"I wish I could've been the one to kill him," Gloss mutters, and I'm not sure whether he's talking about Snow, or Hyperion. My fingers absently trace the silver, shimmery scar left behind from my attempt to take my own life. It seems so frightening at the time, but at the time it was like it was the only logical choice I had left. I wonder if they know the truth now, that I was the one to kill Hyperion.

It will all be over soon. It's so relieving to know that. After years of having children killing children, the horrors have finally ceased and we have the person responsible for allow them to continue. I squeeze Gloss's hand reassuringly, watching as a slight smile crosses his lips. Words aren't needed. All I need is contact, some gentle way to assure Gloss that everything's alright, that I'm here for him.

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**Gloss's POV**

I'm still reeling from the day's events, and I get the feeling that it's going to take me some time to process what happened. I sit with my head in my hands and try and deliberate it all. Storm has gone to some kind of conference, but I had no wish to join her. I've always been the solitary type, known to sit and brood – and this day merits much thought. My head is still spinning like I'm on a constant merry-go-round. I fist my hands in my hair and wonder what it means now that so much has changed.

I close my eyes and the entire day flashes through behind my eyelids. Elethea sitting by Finnick's bedside and watching his heart monitor intently, never once letting go of his hand. Katniss turning on President Coin and shooting her. Snow, finally meeting his demise, coughing up his own blood. Paylor being voted in as President. I wanted Storm to apply for the position, but she flatly refused. She says Panem would never want a Capitolian at their head, broken or not.

The door opens and Storm enters. She seems to have a glow about her, and I can see that the rebellion has impacted positively on her. I wonder what her fate would be if she was still just another Capitolian, if we hadn't grown as close as we are now. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that she's my wife. Cashmere told me once that I should never fall in love – and I never thought I would. I guess both of us were wrong about some things.

"It's over," Storm sighs heavily and sits beside me, burying her face in my shoulder, "It's all finally over."

I share her relief, but I can't help but wonder, what now? In the previous Panem, where the Hunger Games still existed, I had a purpose. It was a horrific one, preparing children for their inevitable deaths. Yet now, I find myself wondering what I'm to do. Return home to District 1, and all the painful memories of Cashmere? Maybe I can handle it with Storm by my side. She cared about my sister, too, so at last we can finally mourn her.

"Did you want to stay in the Capitol?" I ask of Storm, watching as her head jerks up and her eyes widen and she shakes her head. I suppose the memories of what happened here are worse than the good memories I have of Cashmere, the ones that just sting like saltwater in a wound because of the loss.

"I thought we could go back to District 1." She places a hand on my arm, and after all this time, I realise that she feels the same way about my district as I do.

_Home._

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**Storm's POV**

It doesn't feel strange at all to be going back to District 1. It just feels different, perhaps more empty than before, because Cashmere isn't with us. Gloss is painfully aware of it, too. He's very quiet as the train hisses to a stop when we reach the station. I kiss his hand and I don't let go as I get to my feet, walking onto the platform. How can so much have changed within the space of a few short years?

The house, too, is different. Everywhere I look I see Cashmere's ghost. I swallow hard and force myself to be strong. Cashmere's death was some time ago now. I have to learn to move on. In a few days, all my things will be in District 1 and I'll truly be a resident here. Everything has changed...and I like it. To some extent. I still wish that Cashmere was with us, and it feels like a part of me is still missing – but I have Gloss, and I convince myself that's all that matters.

I don't know how long I sleep, but it would seem only a few hours have passed since our arrival when I hear voices in the kitchen. I wander out and see Gloss talking to a stunning older woman, whose hair is as blonde as his. There's no doubt in my mind that this is Gloss's mother. I'm suddenly awkward and nervous. I have no idea how to present myself to Mrs Delucan. Gloss notices me and smiles.

"Mum, I want you to meet my wife, Storm."

At first I'm expecting some sort of District 1 judgement, an accusatory stare. But when Gloss's mother looks at me, I notice her eyes are warm like Cashmere's. She is in her late forties, but there is no doubt that Mrs Delucan possesses the same elegance as her daughter. I haven't met Mr Delucan, but I don't think there would be much of himself in the appearances of his children.

"Come here, my dear. You must call me Satine – Mrs Delucan makes me feel old."

I immediately warm to her, because I see so much of Cashmere in this woman. I wander over and she stands and embraces me, before drawing back and inspecting me critically. I'm uncomfortably aware of how plain I am compared to others – compared to beauties like Cashmere and Elethea and Gloss and Finnick.

"My son has told me so much about you." Satine sits down and stirs her tea gracefully. "Perhaps I will even have some grandchildren within the next few years."

She's lonely, I can tell. I'm not entirely certain, but I assume that Mr Delucan is either no longer with her, or dead. The loss of her daughter must have been hard on her – and now all she has is her son. Maybe, strangely, she has me too – her daughter-in-law. Gloss scowls and pulls a face like he's three years old again.

"Mum!"

Then I find myself laughing, laughing so much that I can't stop, and Satine is laughing too. Gloss is trying hard not to, but I know he'll break. I feel so free, like my heart is soaring, like I'm _alive._ Because they have all accepted me now, and I think it's about the best feeling in the world.

* * *

_One year later_

**Gloss's POV**

Storm bustles around the house, constantly proving to me how much she fits the role of a wife, and how good a mother she will be. Her hand often drifts unconsciously to the prominent swell of her stomach. She's six months pregnant now, and I can't help being both excited and terrified at the prospect of being a father. I have to continuously tell Storm not to stress herself too much, to relax, to sit down and take a break. We both know I'm just paranoid because of what happened before, what seems like forever ago.

Sometimes, Elethea comes up from District 4 to help out. I hear her singing in the kitchen. She's a fantastic cook – we all had something to ease the stress, and she would always bake pizzas and pastas and all sorts of delicious food, but she would hardly ever eat any of it. She eats now, and ravenously. I once teasingly asked if she was pregnant too, before Storm quietly reminded me that Elethea will never bear a child.

Cashmere has a grave out in the yard, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. A headstone with her name engraved in Storm's curly letters. I put flowers out there whenever I remember, which is far too frequently still. Her body might not physically be in the ground, but I know she's there in spirit, watching with a mischievous smile and telling me she knew I'd end up marrying Storm all along.

The baby is a girl. Storm wants to name her Cashmere, after my sister, but I think we need to let go of the past and focus on building a better future. I agree to Cashmere as a middle name, but I want her first name to be Verity, because it means truth. Storm smiles when I tell her this, and she nods in vehement agreement. She wants me to tell our child our story, when she's old enough to listen and understand. It frightens me, but I know that it has to be done.

Maybe once, when I was younger, I might have wished to take back the past. All the pain of my Games, of mentoring, of Cashmere. Yet now I know that in order to have a future as bright as this, sometimes we need pain. We need to make the mistakes to learn from them. I don't believe in destiny or fate, but somehow, this feels _right._ I'm meant to be where I am now. Sometimes, when I've put the flowers down on Cashmere's grave, I look up at the sky and I'm grateful that it's such a beautiful day.

_Wherever you are, Cash, I want you to know I'm happy._


End file.
